THE     MADNESS 
OF    PHILIP 

BY 

JOSEPHINE  DODGE 
DASKAM 


With       -^ 
Illustration* 

by 

F.   Y.  CORY 

r  r 
r 


LIBRARY 

UNIVEflSfTY  OF 


* 


presented  to  the 

LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  •  SAN  DIF.GO 

by 

FRIENDS  OF  THE  LIBRARY 


MR.    JOHN  C.   ROSE 

donor 


\ 


THE   MADNESS   OF   PHILIP 


THE    MADNESS    OF    PHILIP 

AND    OTHER    TALES    OF 
CHILDHOOD 

BY 
JOSEPHINE  DODGE  DASKAM 


Illustrated  by  F.    Y.   Cory 


McCLURE,  PHILLIPS  &  Co. 

NEW  YORK 

1902 


COPYRIGHT,  1902,  BY 
McCLURE,   PHILLIPS   &  CO. 

1901,  by  Harper  &  Bros. 
1900, 1901  and  1902,  by  S.  8.  McClure  Co. 


Published,  Harch,  1002 


SECOND  IMPRESSION 


To  my  Father 

kindest  of  many  kind  critics 

these  stories  are 

dedicated 


PAGE 

THE  MADNESS  OF  PHILIP      .<,.„..  1 

A  STUDY  IN  PIRACY 31 

BOBBERT'S  MERRY  CHRISTMAS 69 

THE  HEART  OF  A  CHILD 95 

ARDELIA  IN  ARCADY 119 

EDGAR,  THE  CHOIR  BOY   UXCELESTIAL      .     .153 

THE  LITTLE  GOD  AND  DICKY 191 


THE   MADNESS   OF   PHILIP 


HIS  mother,  being  a  woman  of  percep 
tion,  realized  early  that  something  was 
wrong.  Even  before  breakfast  she 
found  Philip  trying  to  put  his  sister  into  the 
bolster  case,  checking  her  vivid  denunciations  by 
a  judicious  application  of  the  pillow.  After 
breakfast  it  was  im 
possible  to  get  him 
ready  in  time,  as 
his  rubbers  had 
been  hidden  by  a 
revengeful  sister, 
and  the  bus  was 
kept  waiting  fully 
five  minutes,  to  the 
irritation  of  the 
driver,  who  made 
up  the  lost  interval 


by    a    rapid    pace. 


Checking    her    vivid   denunciations 
l>i/  a  judicious  application   of  the 

pilloio." 

[1] 


THE      M  A  D  N  ESS      O  F      P  H  I  I.  1  P 

This  jolted  the  children  about,  and  frightened  the 
youngest  ones,  so  that  they  arrived  at  the  kinder 
garten  bumped  and  breathless,  and  only  too  dis 
posed  to  take  offense  at  the  first  opportunity.  This 
opportunity  Philip  supplied.  As  they  swarmed 
out  of  the  bus  he  irritated  Joseph  ZukofFsky  by  a 
flat  contradiction  of  his  pleased  statement  that  he 
was  to  lead  the  line  into  the  house. 

"  Oh,  no,  you  ain't !  "  said  Philip. 

Joseph  stared  and  reiterated  his  assertion 
Philip  again  denied  it.  He  did  nothing  to  pre 
vent  Joseph  from  assuming  the  head  of  the  line, 
but  his  tone  was  most  exasperating,  and  Joseph 
sat  down  on  the  lowest  step  of  the  bus  and 
burst  into  angry  tears  —  he  was  not  a  person  of 
strong  character. 

Some  of  the  more  sympathetic  children  joined 
their  tears  to  his,  and  the  others  disputed  vio 
lently  if  vaguely  ;  they  lacked  a  clear  idea  of  the 
difficulty,  but  that  fact  did  not  prevent  eager 
partisanship.  Two  perplexed  teachers  quieted 
the  outbreak  and  marshaled  a  wavering  line,  one 
innocently  upholding  Philip  to  the  disgusted 
[2] 


THE      MADNESS      OK      PHILIP 

group,  "  because  he  walks  along  so  quietly,"  the 
other  supporting  Joseph,  whose  shoulders  heaved 
convulsively  as  he  burst  out  into  irregular  and 
startling  sobs.  It  was  felt  that  the  day  had  be 
gun  inauspiciously. 

They  sat  down  on  the  hall  floor  and  began  to 
pull  off  their  rubbers  and  mufflers.  As  Philip^s 
eye  fell  to  the  level  of  his  feet  a  disagreeable  as 
sociation  stirred  his  thoughts,  and  in  a  moment 
it  had  taken  definite  form  :  his  rubbers  had  been 
stolen  and  hidden  !  His  under  lip  crept  slowly 
out ;  a  distinctly  dangerous  expression  grew  in 
his  eyes;  he  looked  balefully  about  him.  Ma- 
rantha  Judd  pirouetted  across  his  field  of  vision, 
vainglorious  in  a  new  plaid  apron  with  impracti 
cable  pockets.  Her  pigtails  bobbed  behind  her. 
She  had  just  placed  her  diminutive  rubbers 
neatly  parallel,  and  was  attaching  the  one  to  the 
other  with  a  tight  little  clothes-pin  provided  for 
the  purpose. 

Casually,  and  as  if  unconscious  that  Marantha 
was  curiosity  incarnate,  Philip  took  his  own 
clothes-pin  and  adjusted  it  to  his  nose.  It  gave 

m 


THE      MADNESS     OF      PHILIP 

him  an  odd  and,  to  Marantha,  a  distinguished 
appearance,  and  she  inquired  of  him  if  the  sensa 
tions  he  experienced  were  pleasurable.  His  an 
swer  expressed  unconditional  affirmation,  and  un 
clasping  her  clothes-pin  Marantha  snapped  it 


"  Tore  off  the  clothes-pin  with  a  jerk." 

vigorously  over  her  own  tip-tilted  little  feature. 
A  sharp  and  uncompromising  tweak  was  the 
result,  and  Marantha,  shrieking,  tore  off  the 
clothes-pin  with  a  jerk  that  sent  little  Richard 
Willetts  reeling  against  his  neighbor.  Out  of 
the  confusion  —  Richard  was  a  timorous  creature, 
[41 


THE      MADNESS      OF      P  H  I  I.  I  1' 

and  fully  convinced  that  the  entire  kindergarten 
meditated  continual  assault  upon  his  small  per 
son  —  rose  the  chiding  voice  of  Marantha  : 

"  You  are  a  bad,  bad  boy,  Philup,  you  are  ! " 

To  her  tangled  accusations  the  bewildered 
teacher  paid  scant  heed. 

"  I  can't  see  why  all  you  little  children  find  so 
much  fault  with  Philip,"  she  said  reprovingly. 
"  What  if  he  did  put  his  clothes-pin  on  his  nose  ? 
It  was  a  foolish  thing  to  do,  but  why  need  you 
do  it  ?  You  have  made  more  trouble  than  he, 
Marantha,  for  you  frightened  little  Richard  ! " 

Marantha's  desperation  was  dreadful  to  wit 
ness.  She  realized  that  her  vocabulary  was 
hopelessly  inadequate  to  her  situation  :  she  knew 
herself  unable  to  present  her  case  effectively,  but 
she  felt  that  she  was  the  victim  of  a  glaring  in 
justice.  Her  chin  quivered,  she  sank  upon  the 
stairs,  and  her  tears  were  even  as  the  tears  of 
Joseph  Zukoffsky. 

The  youngest  assistant  now  appeared  on  the 
scene. 

"  Miss  Hunt  wants  to  know  why  you're  so  late 


THE     MADNESS     OF     V  H  I  I.  I  i' 

with  them,"  she  inquired.  "  She  hopes  nothing's 
the  matter.  Mrs.  R.  B.  M.  Smith  is  here  to-day 
to  visit  the  primary  schools  and  kindergartens, 
and " 

"  Oh,  goodness  !  "  the  attempted  consolation 
of  Marantha  ceased  abruptly.  "  I  can't  bear  that 
woman  !  She's  always  read  Stanley  Hall's  last 
article  that  proves  that  what  he  said  before  was 
wrong  !  Come  along,  Marantha,  and  don't  be  a 
foolish  little  girl  any  longer.  We  shall  be  late 
for  the  morning  exercise." 

Upstairs  a  large  circle  was  forming  under  the 
critical  scrutiny  of  a  short,  stout  woman  with 
crinkly,  gray  hair.  They  took  their  places, 
Marantha  pink-nosed  and  mutinous,  Joseph  not 
yet  recovered  from  a  distressing  tendency  to 
burst  out  into  gulping  sobs — he  was  naturally 
pessimistic  and  treasured  his  grievances  indefi 
nitely.  Philip's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  floor. 

"  Now  what  shall  we  sing  ?  "  inquired  the  prin 
cipal  briskly.  "  I  think  we  will  let  Joseph 
choose,  because  he  doesn't  look  very  happy  this 
bright  morning.  Perhaps  we  can  cheer  him  up." 
[6] 


T  II  E     M  A  I)  N  K  S  S     O  F      1'  II  1  I.  I  I' 


In  a  husky  voice  Joseph  suggested  "  My  heart 
is  God's  little  garden."  In  reply  to  Miss  Hunt's 
opening  question  Eddy  Brown  had  proposed 
"  Happy  greeting  to  the  rain,"  a  sufficiently 
maudlin  request,  as  there  was  absolutely  no  indi 
cation  of  that  climatic  condition,  past,  present,  or 
future.  Eddy  possessed  the  not  unusual  combi 
nation  of  a  weak  mind  and  a  strong  voice,  and 
though  the  piano  prelude  was  that  of  Joseph's 
choice,  the  effect  of  a  voice  near  him  starting  the 
well-known  air  of  his  own  suggestion  was  over 
whelming,  and  Eddy  began  shout 
ing  it  lustily.  Marantha,  whose 
susceptibilities  were,  like  those  of 
others  of  her  sex,  distinctly  sharp- 


'  Marantha     .     .     .     upheld  Josuph  until  all  her  powers  of 
heart  and  voice." 

[7] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

ened  by  suffering,  knew  well  enough  who  was  re 
sponsible  for  the  rival  chorus,  and  upheld  Joseph 
with  all  her  powers  of  heart  and  voice.  The  tunes 
in  question  were,  like  many  of  the  kindergarten 
repertoire,  somewhat  similar,  and  a  few  seconds  of 
chaotic  discords  amazed  Mrs.  R.  B.  M.  Smith  and 
vexed  the  teachers. 

Now  see  on  what  slight  thread  events  are 
strung  !  What  she  innocently  supposed  to  be  a 
misunderstanding  of  the  song  selected,  influenced 
one  of  the  teachers  to  announce  the  subsequent 
songs  herself.  This  led  Mrs.  R.  B.  M.  Smith  to 
suppose  that  the  teacher  was  selecting  all  the 
songs,  thus  depriving  the  children  of  the  divine, 
not  to  say  formative,  privilege  of  individual 
choice.  This  opinion,  in  turn,  led  her  to  beckon 
one  of  the  assistants  to  her  and  describe  her  own 
system  of  awakening  and  continuing,  by  a  cease 
less  series  of  questions,  the  interested  cooperation 
of  the  child's  intelligence.  In  order  to  do  this, 
she  added,  the  subjects  of  song  and  story  must  be 
more  simple  than  was  possible  if  complex  histori 
cal  incidents  were  used.  She  indicated  her  will- 
I  8  1 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHI  LI  I' 

ingness  to  relate  to  the  children  a  model  story  of 
this  order,  calling  the  teachers1  attention  in  ad 
vance  to  the  almost  incredible  certainty  that 
would  characterize  the  children's  anticipation  of 
the  events  thus  judiciously  and  psychologically 
selected. 

The  arm-chairs  shortly  to  contain  so  much  ac 
curate  anticipation  were  ranged  neatly  on  both 
sides  of  the  long  room.  Some  malefic  influence 
caused  the  officiating  teacher  to  appoint  Philip  to 
lead  one-half  of  the  circle  to  the  chairs  and  Ma- 
rantha  the  other.  More  than  one  visitor  had 
been  wont  to  remark  the  unanimity  with  which 
this  exercise  was  performed.  Each  child  grasped 
his  little  chair  by  the  arms,  and  holding  it  before 
him,  carried  it  to  its  appointed  place  in  the  circle. 
So  well  had  they  learned  this  manoeuver  that  the 
piano  chords  were  sufficient  monitors,  and  the 
three  teachers,  having  seen  the  line  safely  started, 
gathered  around  their  visitor  to  hear  more  of  the 
theory. 

Under  what  obsession  Philip  labored,  with  what 
malignant  power  he  had  made  pact,  is  unknown. 


T  H  E     M  A  D  N  E  S  S     OF     PHILIP 


He   had  no  appearance  of  planning  darkly  :   his 
actions  seemed  the  result  of  instantaneous  inspira- 


The  effect  was  inexpressibly 

indiscreet." 


tion.    Standing 

before  his  chair 

as  if  about  to 

take    his    seat, 

he    subsided    partially  ;    then, 

grasping    the    arms,    half    bent 

over,  he  waddled  toward  the 
circle.  This  natural  method  of  transportation 
commended  itself  in  a  twinkling  to  his  line,  and 
without  the  slightest  disturbance  or  hesitation, 
they  imitated  him  exactly.  Experience  should 
have  taught  Marantha  the  futility  of  following 
his  example,  but  she  was  of  an  age  when  expe 
rience  appeals  but  slightly ;  and  determined  to 
excel  him,  at  the  risk  of  falling  at  every  step 
on  her  already  injured  nose,  she  bent  over  so  far 
that  the  legs  of  her  chair  pointed  almost  directly 
upward.  Her  line  followed  her,  and  waddling, 
f  10] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

shuffling,  gnome-like,  they  made  for  the  circle. 
It  had  all  the  effect  of  a  carefully  inculcated  drill, 
and  to  Mrs.  R.  B.  M.  Smith  the  effect  was  inex 
pressibly  indiscreet. 

"Is  it  possible  that  you  —  '  she  inquired, 
pointing  to  the  advancing  children,  many  of 
whom  promptly  fell  over  backward  under  the 
sudden  onslaught  of  the  horrified  teachers. 

Miss  Hunt  colored  angrily. 

"  Something  is  the  matter  with  the  school  to 
day,"  she  said  sharply.  "  I  never  knew  them  to 
behave  so  in  my  life  !  I  can't  see  what's  come 
oxer  them  !  They  always  carry  their  chairs  in 
front  of  them."" 

"  I  should  hope  so,"  responded  the  visitor 
placidly,  "  nothing  could  be  worse  for  them  than 
that  angle." 

"  At  least  they're  safe  now,"  the  youngest  as 
sistant  whispered  to  her  fellow-teacher,  as  the 
children  sat  decorously  attentive  in  their  chairs, 
their  faces  turned  curiously  toward  the  strange 
lady  with  the  fascinating  plumes  in  her  bonnet. 

" Nothing  like  animals  to  bring  out  the 

[11] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 


protective  instinct  —  feebler  dependent  on  the 
stronger,"  she  concluded  rapidly,  and  then  ad 
dressed  the  objects  of  these  theories. 

"  Now,  children,  Fin  going  to  tell  you  a  nice 
story — you  all  like  stories,  I'm  sure." 

At  just  that  moment  little  Richard  Willetts 
sneezed  loudly  and  unexpectedly  to  all,  himself 
included,  with  the  result  that  his  ever-ready  sus 
picion  fixed  upon  his  neighbor,  Andrew  Halloran, 
as  the  direct  cause  of  the  convulsion.  Andrew's 
well-meant  efforts  to  detach  from  Richard's  vest 
the  pocket-handkerchief  securely 
fastened  thereto  by  a  large,  black 
safety-pin  strengthened  the  lat- 
ter's  conviction  of  intended  as 
sault  and  battery,  and  he  squirmed 
out  of  the  circle  and  made  a  dash 
for  the  hall  —  the  first  stage  in 
an  evident  homeward  expedi 
tion. 

This  broke  in  upon  the  story, 

,   and  even  when  it  got  under  way 
Sneezed  loudly  and 

unexpectedly."        again    there    was   an    atmosphere 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 


"  '  Yesterday,  children,  as  I  came  out  of  my  yard,  what  do 
you  think  I  saw  ? ' ' 

of    excitement    quite    unexplained    by    the    tale 
itself. 

"  Yesterday,  children,  as  I  came  out  of  my 
yard,  what  do  you  think  I  saw  ?  "  The  elabo 
rately  concealed  surprise  in  store  was  so  obvious 
that  Marantha  rose  to  the  occasion  and  sug 
gested  : 

"  An  ePphunt !  " 

"  Why,  no  !      Why  should   I   see  an   elephant 
in  my  yard  ?     It  wasn't   nearly  so  big  as  that  — 
it  was  a  little  thing  !  " 

"  A  fish  !  "  ventured  Eddy  Brown,  whose  eye 
fell  upon  the  aquarium  in  the  corner.  The  racon- 
teufse  smiled  patiently. 

"  Why,  no  !  How  could  a  fish,  a  live  fish,  get 
in  my  front  yard  ?" 

"  A  dead  fish  ?  "  persisted  Eddy,  who  was  never 
known  to  relinquish  voluntarily  an  idea. 
[131 


THE      M  A  D  N  K  S  S     OF     PHILIP 

"  It  was  a  little  kitten,"  said  the  story-teller, 
decidedly.  "A  little  white  kitten.  She  was 
standing  right  near  a  great  big  puddle  of  water. 
And  what  else  do  you  think  I  saw  ?  " 

"  Another  kitten  ? "  suggested  Marantha  con 
servatively. 

"  No,  a  big  Newfoundland  dog.  He  saw  the 
little  kitten  near  the  water.  Now  cats  don't  like 
the  water,  do  they  ?  They  don't  like  a  wet  place. 
What  do  they  like  ?  " 

"  Mice  ! "  said  Joseph  Zukoffsky  abruptly. 

"  Well,  yes,  they  do  ;  but  there  were  no  mice 
in  my  yard.  I'm  sure  you  know  what  I  mean. 
If  they  don't  like  water,  what  do  they  like  ?  " 

"  Milk  !  "  cried  Sarah  Fuller  confidently. 

"  They  like  a  dry  place,"  said  Mrs.  R.  B.  M. 
Smith. 

"  Now  what  do  you  suppose  the  dog  did  ?  " 
It  may  be  that  successive  failures  had  disheartened 
the  listeners  ;  it  may  be  that  the  very  range  pres 
ented  alike  to  the  dog  and  them  for  choice  dazzled 
their  imaginations.  At  any  rate  they  made  no 
answer. 

[141 


T  HE     MADNESS     OF      PHILIP 

"  Nobody  knows  what  the  dog  did  ?  "  repeated 
the  story-teller  encouragingly.  "  What  would 
you  do  if  you  saw  a  little  white  kitten  like  that  ?" 

Again  a  silence.  Then  Philip  remarked  gloom- 
ily: 

"  Fd  pull  its  tail." 

Even  this  might  have  been  passed  over  had 
not  the  youngest  assistant,  who  had  not  yet  lost 
her  sense  of  humor,  giggled  convulsively.  This, 
though  unnoticed  by  the  visitor,  was  plainly  ob 
served  by  fully  half  the  children,  with  the  result 
that  when  Mrs.  R.  B.  M.  Smith  inquired  patheti 
cally, 

"  And  what  do  the  rest  of  you  think  ?  I 
hope  yon  are  not  so  cruel  as  that  little  boy  !  "  a 
jealous  desire  to  share  Philip^s  success  prompted 
the  quick  response  : 

"  Fd  pull  it,  too  !  " 

Miss  Hunt  was  oblivious  to  the  story,  which 
finished  somehow,  the  dog  having  done  little,  and 
the  kitten,  if  anything,  less.  She  was  lost  in  a 
miserable  wonder  what  was  the  matter  with  them  ? 
Alas  !  she  could  not  know  that  the  root  of  all 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

the  evil  was  planted  in  the  breast  of  Philip,  the 
demon-ridden.  His  slightest  effort  was  blessed 
with  a  success  beyond  his  hopes.  He  had  but  to 
raise  his  finger,  and  his  mates  rallied  all  uncon 
sciously  to  his  support.  Nor  did  he  require 
thought ;  on  the  instant  diabolical  inspiration 
seized  him,  and  his  conception  materialized  al 
most  before  he  had  grasped  it  himself.  The  very 
children  of  light  were  made  to  minister  unto  him, 
as  in  the  case  of  his  next  achievement. 

With  a  feeling  of  absolute  safety  the  teacher 
called  upon  Eddy  Brown  to  lead  the  waiting  circle 
in  a  game.  Eddy  was  one  of  the  stand-bys  of  the 
kindergarten.  He  was  a  little  old  for  it,  but 
being  incapable  of  promotion  owing  to  his  inabil 
ity  to  grasp  the  rudiments  of  primary  work,  he 
continued  to  adorn  his  present  sphere.  It  would 
almost  seem  that  Frobel  had  Eddy  Brown  in 
mind  in  elaborating  his  educational  schemes,  for 
his  development,  according  to  kindergarten  stand 
ards,  was  so  absolutely  normal  as  to  verge  on  the 
extraordinary.  He  was  never  ennuye,  never  cross, 
never  disobedient.  He  never  anticipated ;  he 
f  161 


T  H  K     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

never  saw  what  you  meant  before  you  said  it ;  he 
never  upset  the  system  by  inventing  anything 
whatsoever — the  vice  of  the  too  active-minded. 
He  was  perennially  surprised  at  the  climaxes  of 
the  stories,  passionately  interested  in  the  games ; 
and  clay  balls  and  braided  straw  represented  his 
wildest  dissipations.  He  sat  in  his  chair  till  he 
was  told  to  rise,  and  remained  standing  till  he 
was  urged  to  take  his  seat.  His  voice,  if  some 
what  off'  the  key,  was  always  prominent  in  song ; 
his  feet,  if  not  always  in  time,  were  always  in 
evidence  when  it  was  a  question  of  marching. 

To-day  he  took  the  middle  of  the  ring  and 
beamed  cheerfully  on  them  all  as  they  swayed 
back  and  forth  and  sang  to  him  : 

Now  Eddie  if  you'll  teach  its 

A  new  game  to  play, 
We  II  watch  you  and  try  to 

I)o  just  as  yon  say  ! 

There  was  a  slight  poetic  exaggeration  in  the 
idea  of  Eddy  Brown's  being  able  to  teach  any 
body  anything  new,  but  this  was  felt  by  no  one 
but  the  youngest  assistant,  who,  recalling  his 

[17] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 


Tripping  lightly  as 
we  go."\ 


regular  programme  upon  such 
occasions,  smiled  somewhat  sar 
donically. 

As  she  had  expected,  Eddy 
inclined  to  play  "  Tripping 
lightly  as  we  go."  His  concep 
tion  of  the  process  implied  in 
the  song  was  a  laborious  jump 
ing  up  on  one  toe  and  down  on 
the  other.  This  exercise  he 
would  keep  up  till  the  crack  of 
doom  if  undiverted  from  it. 
When  induced  to  stop,  he  signalled  to  Joseph 
Zukoffsky  to  take  his  place.  Joseph,  on  being 
tunefully  implored  to  produce  something  new  in 
the  way  of  a  game,  declared  for  "  Did  you  ever 
see  a  laddie  ?  "  and  the  ring  started  in  blithely  : 

Did  you  ever  see  a  laddie,  a  laddie,  a  laddie  ; 
Did  you  ever  see  a  laddie,  do  this   way  or  that  ? 

After  some    seconds    of  consideration    Joseph 
solemnly  lifted  his  left  heel  from  the  floor  and  re 
placed   it.       This  enthralling  diversion  occupied 
[18] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

the  ring  for  a  moment,  and  then  Marantha  was 
summoned.  Though  plump  as  a  partridge,  Mar 
antha  was  born  for  the  ballet. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  a  lassie,  a  lassie,  a  lassie" 
sang  the  children  as  Marantha,  arching  her  little 
instep  and  pointing  her  toe  deliciously,  kicked 
out  to  one  side,  almost  as  high  as  her  waist,  with 
a  rhythmical  precision  good  to  see. 

Her  eyes  sought  Philip's,  and  with  a  coy  little 
smile,  she  took  his  hand  to  lead  him  to  the  centre. 
Too  many  poets  and  novelists  have  analyzed  the 
inevitable  longing  of  woman  to  allure  him  who 
scorns  her  charms,  the  pathetic  passion  to  attract 

SO 


"  Marantha  was  born  for  the  ballet." 
\  191 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

where  she  has  been  brutally  repulsed,  to  make  it 
necessary  for  me  to  discuss  her  attempted  endear 
ments  as  Philip  sulkily  flung  away  her  hand. 

Just  then  somebody  wanted  a  drink  ;  and  as 
one  teacher  led  the  thirsty  child  away,  and  the 
other  turned  her  head  to  attract  the  pianist's  at 
tention  and  propose  a  new  tune,  Philip,  who  had 
not  begun  to  set  his  model  till  the  last  moment, 
suddenly  lifted  his  thumb  to  his  nose,  contracting 
and  expanding  his  fingers  in  strict  time. 

Her  rapid  glance  had  shown  the  teacher  a  ring 
of  children  apparently  tapping  their  noses,  and 
only  a  horrified  snort  from  Mrs.  R.  B.  M.  Smith 
and  a  murmured  "  Heavens ! "  from  the  returning 
assistant  called  her  attention  to  the  circle  of  chil 
dren  gravely  assuming  an  attitude  prescribed  no 
where  in  Frobel,  nor,  indeed,  in  any  system,  social 
or  Delsartean. 

Philip,  now  utterly  abandoned  to  the  spirit  of 
successful  deviltry  that  intoxicated  him  beyond 
control,  danced  up  and  down,  inviting  one,  two, 
and  three  out  of  the  demoralized  ring  to  share 
his  orgy.  They  pranced  about  wildly,  shouting 
[201 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 


snatches  of  song,  pushing  each  other,  deaf  to 
the  shocked  remonstrance  of  the  teachers,  while 
in  their  midst, 
flushed  and 
screaming,  Philip 
and  Marantha, 
satyr  and  bac 
chante,  leaped 
high  in  the  air. 
In  the  door 


"  Leaped  hiyh  in  the  air." 


there  suddenly 
appeared  a  wom 
an  in  a  checked 
apron  with  a  shawl  over  her  head.  As  the  teach 
ers  pulled  the  ring-leaders  apart,  and  the  pianist, 
to  a  shocked  murmur  of  remonstrance,  played 
Triiumerei  with  the  soft  pedal  down,  while  a  circle 
of  flushed  and  palpitating  "  little  birds "  rocked 
themselves  to  sleep  with  occasional  reminiscent 
giggles  and  twitters,  the  woman  in  the  door  ad 
vanced  to  a  little  bird  whose  chief  interest,  as  he 
ruffled  his  gingham  plumage,  seemed  to  be  to 
evade  an  obviously  maternal  call. 
1211 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 


"  Philup,  ye  bad  boy,  where's  the  carvin'  knife?'1 
she  said  angrily.  This  was  too  much  for  the 
youngest  assistant,  who  went  off  into  something 
very  like  hysteria,  while  the  principal  tried  to 
explain  the  inevitable  bad  effect  of  shocks  and 
slaps  upon  the  delicate  organization  of  the  child. 

"  An'  it's  beggin'  y'r  pardon,  Miss,  but  it's  a 
rale  imp  o'  Satan  he'll  be  some  days,  like,  an'  I 
see  it  in  his  eye  this  marnin' !  An  imp  o'  Satan ! " 

The  principal  smiled  deprecatingly.  "  We 
don't  like  to  hear  a  child  called  that,"  she  said, 
gently.  "  Philip  has  not  been  so  good  as  usual 
this  morning " 

"  Ye  may  say  so !  "  interrupted  Philip's  parent. 


"  Philup,  ye  bad  boy,  where's  the 
carvin'  knife  ?  " 


"  An'  whin  it's  that  way 
he  is,  it's  little  good  soft 
words  '11  do,  Miss.  He 
gets  it  from  his  father. 
An'  me  not  able  to  cut 
the  mate  fer  his  father's 
[22] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

dinner  !  He's  a  sly  young  one !  It's  a  good 
spankin'  he  needs,  Miss — an'  hell  get  it,  too  ! " 

"Take  her  into  the  hall  with  him.  Tell  her 
not  to  spank  him.  Tell  her  we'll  punish  him. 
We  understand  how  to  make  him  sorry,"  mur 
mured  the  principal  to  the  youngest  assistant,  as 
she  turned  to  quiet  the  circle. 

The  youngest  assistant  conducted  Philip's 
mother,  and  dragged  Philip  to  the  hall. 

"  Now,  Philip,  tell  your  mother  where  you  hid 
the  carving  knife,"  she  said  invitingly.  Philip 
made  a  break  for  the  outer  door.  He  was  caught 
and  reasoned  with.  Incidentally  his  naughtiness 
in  leading  the  game  was  mentioned.  His  mother 
set  her  jaw  and  loosened  her  shawl. 

"  An'  that's  what  ye  did,  ye  bad  boy  ?  What 
did  I  say  the  last  time  I  see  ye  at  it  ?  Dirty 
thrick  !  You  come  here  to  me,  sir  ! " 

Philip  kicked  violently  and  pinched  the  young 
est  assistant.  Her  lips  assumed  the  set  expres 
sion  of  the  other  woman's.  The  light  of  genera 
tions  of  Philistine  mothers  kindled  in  her  eye. 
As  Philip  struggled  silently  but  wildly,  the  voice 
[23J 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

of    Mrs.    R.    B.    M.    Smith,   high    and    resonant, 
floated  through  the  transom. 

"  And  so  we  never  strike  a  little  child,  Joseph, 
and  you  must  never  talk  about  it.  His  mother 
and  Miss  Ethel  are  going  to  talk  with  little 
Philip,  arid  try  to  make  him  see  — 

Philip  ducked  under  his  mother's  arm  and  al 
most  gained  the  door.  The  youngest  assistant 
caught  him  by  his  apron-string  and  towed  him 
back.  His  mother  looked  around  hastily,  noticed 
a  small  door  half  open,  and  caught  the  youngest 
assistant's  eye. 

"  Cellar  ?  "  she  inquired. 

The  youngest  assistant  nodded,  and  as  his 
mother  lifted  Philip  bodily  and  made  for  the  lit 
tle  door,  it  was  opened  for  her  and  closed  after 
her  by  the  only  other  person  in  the  hall. 

His  mother  carried  Philip  to  the  coal-heap, 
and  upon  it  she  sat  and  spanked  her  son  — 
spanked  him  systematically,  and  after  an  ancient 
method  upon  which  civilization  has  been  able  to 
make  few  if  any  improvements.  She  had  never 
read  that  excellent  work,  "  Child  Culture,  or 
[24] 


It  was  opened  for  her  and  closed  after  her. 
[25] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 


How  shall  we  Train  our  Mothers  ? "    (R.  B.  M. 
Smith). 

Soon  she  led  him  in,  subdued  and  remorseful, 
the  demon  expelled,  to  the  principal. 


"  Spanked  him  systematically." 

"  He'll  throuble  ye  no  more,  Miss,  an1  the  carv- 
in'  knife  is  underneath  th1  bolster  av  his  bed— 
the  bad  'un  that  he  is  !  " 

"  Now  that  Philip  is  good  again — and  you  see 
[20] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

how  quiet  he  was  out  in  the  hall  ;  I  told  you  he 
was  thinking  very  hard — we'll  all  sing  a  song  to 
show  how  glad  we  are,  and  he  shall  choose  it. 
What  would  Philip  like  to  sing  ?  " 

Philip  murmured  huskily  that  his  heart  was 
God's  little  garden,  and  there  was  more  joy  over 
him  than  over  the  two  dozen  that  needed  no  re 
pentance. 

But  the  youngest  assistant  avoided  Mrs.  R.  B. 
M.  Smith's  eye,  for  she  had  opened  the  cellar 
door ! 


"  Murmured  huskily  that  his  heart 
was  God's  little  garden." 


A   STUDY   IN   PIRACY 

IT  might  not  have  occurred  to  you  to  find 
the  Head  Captain  terrible  to  look  upon, 
had  you  seen  him  first  without  his  uniform. 
There  seems  to  be  something  essentially  pacific 
in  the  effect  of  a  broad  turn-over  gingham  collar, 
a  blue  neck-ribbon,  and  a  wide  straw  hat ;  and 
you  might  be  pardoned  for  thinking  him  a 
rather  mild  person.  But  could  you  have  encoun 
tered  him  in  a  black  cambric  mask  with  pinked 
edges,  a  broad  sash  of  Turkey  red  wound  tightly 
about  his  waist,  and  that  wide  collar  turned  up 
above  his  ears  —  the  tie  conspicuous  for  its  ab 
sence  —  you  might  have  sung  another  tune. 
His  appearance  was  at  such  a  time  nothing  short 
of  menacing. 

The  Lieutenant  was  distinctly  less  impressive. 
His  sash,  though  not  so  long  as  the  Head  Cap 
tain's,   was   forever  coming  untied  and    trailing 
behind  him,  and  as  he  often  retreated  rapidly,  he 
T311 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

stumbled  and  fell  over  it  twice  out  of  three 
times.  This  gave  it  a  draggled  and  spiritless 
look.  Moreover,  he  was  not  allowed  to  turn  his 
collar  up  except  on  Saturdays,  and  the  one  his 
sister  had  made  him  from  wrapping  paper  had  an 
exotic,  not  to  say  amateur  theatrical,  effect  that 
was  far  from  convincing.  The  eye-holes  in  his 
mask,  too,  were  much  too  large  —  showing,  in 
deed,  the  greater  part  of  both  cheeks,  each  of 
which  was  provided  with  a  deep  dimple.  Seen 
in  the  daytime,  he  was  not  —  to  speak  confiden 
tially  —  very  awesome. 

As  for  the  Vicar  —  well,  there  were  obstacles 
in  the  way  of  her  presenting  such  an  appearance 
as  she  would  have  liked.  In  the  first  place,  there 
was  not  enough  Turkey  red  to  go  evenly  round, 
and  to  her  disgust  she  had  been  obliged  to  put 
up  with  a  scant  three-quarters  of  a  yard  —  not  a 
wide  strip  at  that.  What  was  by  courtesy 
called  the  Vicar's  waist  was  not  far  from  three- 
quarters  of  a  yard  in  circumference,  which  fact 
compelled  her  to  strain  her  sash  tightly  in  order 
to  be  able  to  make  even  a  small  hard  knot,  to 
f  321 


A     STUDY     IN     PIRACY 

say  nothing  of  bows  and  ends.  She  had  no  col 
lar  of  any  kind  —  her  frocks  were  gathered  into 
bands  at  the  neck  —  and  she  was  not  allowed  to 
imitate  the  Lieutenant's  ;  who,  though  generally 
speaking  a  mush  of  concession,  held  out  very 
strongly  for  this  outward  and  visible  sign  of  a 
presumable  inward  and  spiritual  superiority.  So 
the  Vicar,  in  a  wild  attempt  at  masculinity,  had 
privately  borrowed  a  high  linen  collar  of  her  uncle. 
The  shirts  in  her  uncle's  drawer  had  printed  inside 
them,  "wear  a  seventeen-and-a-half  collar  with  this 
shirt"  so  you  will  not  be  surprised  to  learn  that 
the  Vicar  occasionally  fell  into  the  collar,  so  to 
speak,  and  found  herself  most  effectually  muzzled. 
But  the  worst  was  her  mask.  Her  hair  came 
down  in  a  heavy  bang  almost  to  her  straight 


brown  eyebrows ;  her  round, 
brown  eyes  were  somewhat  short 
sighted  ;  her  eye-holes  were  too 
small.  In  consequence  of  these 
facts,  whenever  it  was  desirable  The  Vicar. 
[331 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

or  necessary  to  see  an  inch  before  her  nose  she  was 
obliged  to  push  the  mask  up  over  her  bang,  when 
it  waved  straight  out  and  up,  and  looked  like  some 
high  priest's  mitre. 

Her  title  was  due  to  her  uncle,  who,  to  do  him 
justice,  was  as  innocent  of  his  influence  in  the 
matter  as  of  the  loss  of  his  collar. 

"  When  a  person  isn't  the  head  of  the  Pi 
rates,  but  is  an  officer  just  the  same,  and 
has  some  say  about  things,  what  do  you  call 
that  ? "  she  asked  him  abruptly  one  day.  He 
was  reading  at  the  time,  and  not  unnatu 
rally  understood  her  to  say  "  the  head  of  the 
parish." 

"  Why,  that's  called  a  vicar,  I  suppose  you 
mean,"  he  answered. 

"  A  vicker  !     Does  he  have  some  say  ?  " 

"  Some  say  ?  " 

"  Yes  "  -  impatiently  —  "  some  say.  He 
hasn't  got  to  do  the  way  the  others  tell  him  all 
the  time,  has  he  ?  " 

"  Oh,  dear,  no.  Don't  you  know  Mr.  Wright, 
down  at  the  chapel  ?  He's  called  the  vicar.  He 
[341 


A     STUDY      IN     PIRACY 

really  manages  it,  I  think.  Of  course  it's  not 
like  being  the  rector " 

"  Chapel  ?  Is  that  the  only  kind  of  vicker, 
like  Mr.  Wright  ?  " 

"  Why,  of  course  not,  silly  !  There  are  lots  of 
different  kinds." 

"  Oh  ! "  and  she  retired,  practising  the  word. 
The  others  were  much  impressed  by  her  clever 
ness  in  discovering  such  a  fascinating  title.  It 
savored  of  wicked  and  villain,  to  begin  with  ; 
and  pursuing  the  advantage  of  their  previous 
ignorance  of  it,  she  invented  several  privileges 
and  perquisites  of  the  office,  which  to  deny 
would  argue  their  lack  of  information  on  the 
subject,  a  thing  she  knew  they  would  never 
own. 

One  of  these  was  the  right  to  summon  the 
band,  when  the  Head  Captain  had  decided  on  an 
expedition,  to  any  meeting-place  she  saw  fit ; 
and  though  in  a  great  many  ways  her  superiors 
found  her  a  nuisance,  the  Lieutenant  in  particu 
lar  objecting  in  a  nagging,  useless  sort  of  way  to 
most  of  her  suggestions,  they  could  not  but  admit 
f  35  1 


THE     MADNESS     OF     P  H  I  I-  I  P 

that  her  selection  of  mysterious,  unsuspected  ren 
dezvous  was  often  brilliantly  original. 

On  one  especial  occasion,  a  warm  afternoon  late 
in  June,  when  the  houses  and  yards  were  all 
quiet,  and  the  very  dogs  lay  still  in  the  shade, 
the  Vicar  led  them  softly  to  the  chicken  yard, 
mystified  them  by  crawling  through  a  broken 


"  Crouching  along  beneath  the,  perches." 

glass  frame  into  the  covered  roost,  crouching 
along  beneath  the  perches,  and  going  out  again 
by  the  legitimate  door  without  stopping  to  speak.- 
This  effectually  silenced  the  Lieutenant  —  the 
chicken  house  seemed  an  old  ruse  to  him,  and  he 
was  sniffing  in  preparation  for  the  expression  of 
his  opinion.  Out  across  the  yard  and  twice 
around  an  enormous  hogshead  they  walked  sol- 
[361 


A     STUDY     IN     PIRACY 

einnly.  Such  a  prelude  must  mean  a  great 
Jinale,  and  the  Head  Captain  felt  decidedly  curi 
ous.  The  Vicar  paused,  made  a  short  detour  for 
the  purpose  of  getting  two  empty  boxes,  piled 
them  one  on  the  other,  and  lightly  swung  herself 
into  the  cask.  A  loud  thud  announced  her  safe 
arrival  at  the  bottom,  and  flushed  with  delight 
at  the  incomparable  secrecy  of  the  thing,  the 
Head  Captain  followed  her.  The  Lieutenant, 
grumbling  as  usual,  and  very  nearly  hanging 
himself  in  his  sash,  which  caught  on  the  edge, 
tumbled  after,  and  standing  close  together  in 
the  great  barrel  they  grinned  consciously  at 
each  other. 

The  Head  Captain  broke  the  silence. 

"  Are  we  all  here  ?  "  he  demanded,  his  voice 
waking  strange  and  hollow  echoes. 

"  Yes  !  "  replied  the  Vicar  delightedly,  burst 
ing  with  pride. 

"  Aye,  aye  !  "  said  the  Lieutenant  with  careful 
formality. 

"  Then  listen  here  ! "  the  Head  Captain  spoke 

in  a  hoarse    whisper.     "  This  '11    be   a   different 

[37  1 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

way.     This  is  going  to  be  the  real  thing.     To 
day  we're  going  to  steal ! " 

The  Vicar  gasped.  "  Really  steal  ?  "  she  whis 
pered. 

"  Steal  what  ? "  said  the  Lieutenant  with  a 
non-committal  gruffness. 

"  I  don't  know  till  I  get  there,"  replied  the 
Head  Captain  grandly.  "Gold,  I  suppose,  or 
treasures  or  something  like  that.  Of  course,  if 
we're  caught " 

The  Lieutenant  sucked  in  his  breath  with  a 
peculiar  whistling  noise  —  one  of  his  most  envied 
accomplishments  —  and  ran  his  finger-nail  with  a 
grating  sound  around  his  side  of  the  barrel. 

"Jim  Elder  stole  some  apples  from  my  father's 
barn,  and  my  father  licked  him  good,"  he  sug 
gested. 

"  Apples !  Apples  ! "  The  Head  Captain 
frowned  terribly,  adding  with  biting  irony  :  "  I 
s'pose  Jim  Elder's  a  Pirate  !  I  s'pose  he  wears 
a  uniform !  I  s'pose  he  knows  the  ways  this 
gang  knows  !  I  s'pose  he  meets  in  a  barrel  like 
this  !  Huh  ?  " 

[38] 


A     STUDY     IN     PIRACY 

There  was  no  answer,  and  the  Head  Captain 
settled  his  mask  more  firmly.  "  Come  on  !  "  he 
said. 

They  looked  at  the  sharp  edge  of  the  hogs 
head  ;  it  was  far  away.  They  looked  inquiringly 
at  the  Vicar ;  she  dropped  her  eyes.  Oh, 
Woman,  in  your  hours  of  ease  you  can  devise  fine 
secret  places,  you  can  lead  us  to  them,  but  can 
you  bring  us  back  to  the  outer  world  and  the 
reality  you  seduced  us  from  ?  There  was  an  em 
barrassing  pause.  The  seconds  seemed  hours. 
Would  they  die  in  this  old,  smelly  barrel  ? 

The  Head  Captain  smiled  to  himself. 

"  I  guess  you  kids  never'd  git  out  o'  here  unless 
I  showed  you  how  !  "  he  remarked  cheerfully. 

"  Forward  !  March  !  "  He  took  the  one  step 
possible,  and  scowled  because  they  did  not  follow 
him. 

"  Don't  you  see  ?  "  he  said  irritably.  "  When 
I  say  '  three,'  fall  over.  Now,  one — two — three ! " 

He  pushed  the  Lieutenant  and  the  Vicar 
against  the  side  of  the  barrel,  and  precipitated 
himself  against  them.  The  barrel  wavered,  tot- 
[39] 


THE     MADNESS     OP     PHILIP 

tered,  and  fell  with  a  bang  on  its  side,  the  sub 
ordinate  officers  jouncing  and  gasping,  unhappy 


"'Now,  one — two — three/'' 

cushions  for  their  Head  Captain,  who  crawled 
out  over  them,  adjusted  his  collar,  and  strode  off 
across  the  chicken  yard.  At  the  gate  they 
caught  up  with  him. 

"  Lieutenant  !  " 

"Aye,  aye,  sir." 

"  Go  straight  ahead  and  watch  out  for  us. 
[40] 


A     STUDY     IN     PIRACY 


Whistle  three  times  if  the  coast  is  clear.     Beware 
of  —  of  anything  you  see  !  " 

"  Aye,  aye,  sir." 

The  Lieutenant  slunk  off,  a  peculiar  caution  in 
the  slope  of  his  shoulders  and  his  long,  noiseless 
stride.  He  rounded  the  barn  and  disappeared 
from  sight.  There  was  a  moment  of  suspense. 
Suddenly  he  ap 
peared  again,  his 
hand  raised  warn- 
ingly. 

"  Sst,  sst  !  "  he 
hissed. 

Promptly  they 
skipped  behind  the 
wood-house  door.  In 
a  moment  a  man's 
footsteps  were  audi 
ble  ;  somebody  was 
swinging  by  the  barn, 


A  peculiar  caution  in  the 
slope  of  his  shoulders." 


whistling  as  he  went.  He  called  out  to  the  cook 
as  he  went  by  :  "  Pretty  hot,  ain't  it  ?  Hey  !  I 
say  it's  pretty  hot  !  " 

[41] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

He  was  gone.  He  had  absolutely  no  idea  of 
their  presence.  The  first  of  the  delicious  thrills 
had  begun.  The  Lieutenant,  from  his  post  be 
hind  the  barn  door,  could  have  leaned  out  and 
touched  him,  but  he  had  no  idea.  From  that 
moment  the  scenery  changed.  The  yard  was  en 
chanted  ground,  the  buildings  strange  and  doubt 
ful,  the  stretches  between  haven  and  haven  full  of 
dangers. 

Presently  three  soft  whistles  broke  the  silence. 
They  glided  out  around  the  barn,  and  scaled  the 
first  fence.  The  Head  Captain  stopped  to  caution, 
the  Lieutenant  became  hopelessly  complicated  in 
his  sash,  so  the  Vicar  got  over  first.  Though 
plump,  she  was  light  on  her  feet,  and  had  been 
known  to  push  the  others  over  in  her  nervous 
haste  ;  she  threw  herself  upon  a  solid  board  fence 
in  an  utterly  reckless  way,  striking  the  top  flat  on 
her  stomach,  and  sliding,  slipping  down  the  other 
side.  Her  method,  thoroughly  ridiculous  and 
unscientific  as  it  was,  invariably  succeeded,  and 
she  usually  waited  a  few  seconds  for  them  after 
picking  herself  up.  When  one  climbs  after  the 
[42] 


A     STUDY     IN     PIRACY 


"  She  threw  herself  over  a  solid  board 
fence  in  an  utterly  reckless  way." 


most  approved  fashion,  employing  as  few  separate 
motions  as  possible,  making  every  one  tell,  the 
result  of  such  slippery,  panting  scrambles  as  the 
Vicar's  is  particularly  irritating.  The  success  of 
the  amateur  is  never  pardonable. 

"  Which  way,  Head  Captain  ?" 

A  dusty  forefinger  indicated  the  neighboring 
barn. 

"  Secret  way  or  door  ?  " 

"  Secret  way." 

They  cast  hurried  glances  about  them:  nobody 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

was  in  sight.  At  the  corner  of  the  barn  the 
Lieutenant  again  performed  scout  duty,  and  his 
three  whistles  brought  them  to  a  back  entrance 
hardly  noticeable  to  the  chance  explorer  of  stable 
yards  —  a  low  door  into  a  disused  cow-house. 

Softly  they  stole  in,  softly  peeped  into  the 
barn.  It  lay  placid  and  empty,  smelling  of 
leather  and  hay  and  horses,  with  barrels  of  grain 
all  about,  odd  bits  of  harness,  and  tins  of  wag 
on  grease,  wisps  of  straw,  and  broken  tools  scat 
tered  over  the  floor.  Broad  bands  of  sunlight 
streaked  everything.  They  crept  through  a  lane 
of  barrels,  and  mounted  a  rickety  stair,  heart  in 
mouth.  Who  might  be  at  the  top  ? 

A  moment's  pause,  and  then  the  Head  Captain 
nodded. 

"  All  right,  men,1'  he  breathed. 

They  went  carefully  through  the  thick  hay 
that  strewed  the  upper  floor,  avoiding  the  cracks 
and  pits  that  loosened  boards  and  decayed  plank 
ing  offered  the  unwary  foot.  With  unconscious 
directness  the  Lieutenant  turned  to  the  great  pile 
of  hay  that  usually  marked  the  end  of  this  expe- 
[44] 


A     STUDY     IN     PIRACY 

dition,  but  the  Head  Captain  frowned  and  passed 
by  the  short  ladder  that  led  to  the  summit.  He 
pushed  through  an  avenue  of  old  machinery, 
crawled  over  two  old  sleighs  and  under  a  grind 
stone  frame,  and  emerged  into  a  dim,  almost 
empty  corner. 

The  heat  of  the  hay  was  intense.  The  stuffy, 
dry  smell  of  it  filled  their  nostrils.  Where  the 
bright,  wide  ray  of  sunlight  fell  from  the  little 
window  in  the  apex,  the  air  was  seen  to  be  danc 
ing  and  palpitating  with  millions  of  tiny  particles 
that  kept  up  a  continuous  churning  motion. 
The  perspiration  dripped  from  the  Vicar's  round 
cheeks  ;  she  panted  with  the  heat. 

Walking  on  his  tiptoes,  the  Head  Captain 
sought  the  darkest  depths  of  the  corner,  stum 
bling  over  an  old  covered  chest.  He  stopped,  he 
put  his  hand  on  the  lid.  The  two  attendant  offi 
cers  gasped.  The  Head  Captain,  with  infinite 
caution,  lifted  that  lid. 

Suddenly  a  dull,  echoing  crash  shook  the  floor. 
The  Vicar  squeaked  in  nervous  terror.  I  say 
squeaked,  because  with  grand  presence  of  mind 
[45] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

the  Lieutenant  smothered  her  certain  scream  in 
the  folds  of  his  ever-ready  sash,  and  only  a  faint 


"  Smothered  her  certain  scream  in  the  folds  of  his  ever- 
ready  sash." 

chirp  disturbed  the  deathly  silence  that  followed 
the  crash.  The  Head  Captain's  hand  trembled, 
but  he  held  the  cover  of  the  chest  and  waited. 
Again  that  hollow  boom,  followed  by  a  rustling, 
as  of  hay  being  dragged  down,  and  a  champing, 
swallowing,  gurgling  sound. 

"  Nothin1  but  the  horses,"  whispered  the  Lieu 
tenant,  removing  his  sash.      "  Shut  up,  now  !  " 
[46] 


A     S  T  U  D  V      IN"      P  I  R  A  C  Y 

The  Vicar  breathed  again.  The  Head  Cap* 
tain  bent  over  the  chest. 

"Oh!  Oh!  Oh,  fellows!  Look  a -here!" 
His  voice  shook.  His  eyes  stared  wide.  They 
crept  nearer  and  caught  big  breaths. 

There  in  the  old  chest,  carelessly  thrown  to 
gether,  uncovered,  unprotected,  lay  a  glittering 
wealth  of  strange  gold  and  silver  treasures. 
Knobs,  cups,  odd  pierced,  shallow  saucers,  count 
less  rings  as  big  as  small  cookies,  plain  bars  of 
metal,  heavy  rods. 

The  Head  Captain's  eyes  shone  feverishly,  he 
breathed  quick. 

"  Here,  here,  here  ! "  he  whispered,  and  thrust 
his  hands  into  the  box.  He  ladled  out  a  handful 
to  the  Vicar.  For  a  moment  she  shrank  away ; 
and  then,  as  a  shallow,  carved  gold-colored  thing 
touched  her  hand,  her  cheeks  heated  red,  she 
seized  it  and  hid  it  in  her  pocket. 

"  Gimme  another,"  she  begged  softly,  "  gim 
me  that  shiny,  little  cup  ! " 

If  there  had  been  any  doubt  as  to  the  heavenly 
reality  of  the  thing,  it  was  all  over  now.  No 
[47] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

more  need  the  Head  Captain's  swelling  words  fill 
out  the  bare  gaps  of  the  actual  state  of  the  case. 
Here  were  the  things  —  this  was  no  pretend- 
game.  Here  was  danger,  here  was  crime,  here 
was  glittering  wealth  all  unguarded,  and  no  one 
knew  but  them  ! 

They  gloated  over  the  chest ;  their  hot  fingers 
handled  eagerly  every  ring  and  big  chain.  Only 
the  Lieutenant,  sucking  in  his  breath,  excitedly 
broke  the  ecstatic  silence. 

The  Head  Captain  first  mastered  himself. 

"  Hm,  that's  enough  — from  here!"  he  com 
manded  with  dreadful  implication.  "  Come  on. 
They'll  kill  us  if  they  catch  us !  Soft,  now. 
Don't  breathe  so  loud,  Vicar  !  " 

Off  in  a  different  direction  he  led  them,  having 
closed  the  box  softly,  and  instead  of  making  for 
the  stairs,  stopped  before  three  square  openings 
in  the  floor.  He  lay  flat  on  his  stomach  and 
peered  down  one.  It  opened  directly  above  the 
manger,  and  when  he  had  cast  down  two  arm- 
fuls  of  hay  and  measured  the  distance  with  his 
eye,  they  saw  that  he  meant  to  drop  through, 
[48] 


A     STUDY     IN     PIRACY 

and  realized  that  his  blood  was  up,  and  heaven 
knew  where  he  would  stop  that  day. 

The  Vicar  caught  the  idea  before  the  Lieutenant, 
and  with  characteristic  impatience,  was  through  the 
second  hole  before  the  thii-d  member  of  the  band 
had  thrown  down  his  first  armful.  Light  as  a  cat 
she  dropped,  scrambled  out  of  the  manger,  and  as 
a  step  sounded  in  the  outer  barn,  dragged  the 
Lieutenant  through  in  an  agony  of  apprehension, 
stumbled  across  the  great  heap  of  stable  refuse,  and 
crouched,  palpitating,  behind  the  cow-house  door. 

The  Head  Captain,  whom  crises  calmed  and 
immediate  danger  heartened,  himself  crept  back 
into  the  stable  to  gather  from  the  sound  of  the 
steps  the  direction  taken  by  the  intruder. 

He  was  talking  to  the  horse. 

"Want  some  dinner?  Ill  bet  you  do.  Steal 
ing  hay,  was  you  ?  That'll  never  do." 

It  was  enough.  Soon  he  would  go  upstairs  to 
count  over  the  treasures  —  who  would  ever  have 
supposed  that  this  simple-looking  stableman  had 
known  for  years  of  such  a  trove  ?  —  and  then  woe 
to  the  Pirates  ! 

[49] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

"  Come  on,  you  !  Run  for  your  life  !  "  he  shot 
at  them,  and  they  tore  across  the  yard,  over  a 
back  fence,  and  across  a  vacant  lot,  panting, 
stumbling,  muttering  to  each  other,  the  Vicar 
crying  with  excitement.  The  Lieutenant  caught 
his  foot  in  his  sash  and  fell  miserably,  mistaking 
them  for  arms  of  the  law,  as  they  loyally  turned 
back  to  pick  him  up,  and  fighting  them  with 
feeble  punches.  They  dragged  him  through  a 
hedge  and  took  refuge  in  an  old  tool-house. 

Slowly  they  got  back  breath.  The  delicious 
horror  of  pursuit  was  lifted  from  them.  It  ap 
peared  that  they  were  safe. 

"  You  goin1  home,  now  ?  "  said  the  Lieutenant 
huskily. 

Home  ?  Home  ?  Was  the  fellow  mad  ?  The 
Head  Captain  vouchsafed  no  answer. 

"  Forward  !     March !  " 

He  strode  out  of  the  tool-house  and  made  for 
the  barn.  A  large  dog  barked,  and  a  voice 
called : 

"  Down,  Danny,  down  !  " 

They  returned  hastily,  and  climbed  laboriously 
[50] 


A      S  T  r  D  Y      IX      PIRACY 

out  of  a  little  window  on  the  other  side  of  the 
tool-house,  striking  a  bee-line  for  the  adjoining 
property.  The  treasure  jingled  in  their  pockets 
as  they  ran  stealthily  into  this  barn.  The  last 
restraint  was  cast  away,  they  were  on  new  terri 
tory.  A  succession  of  back-yard  cuts  had  re 
sulted  in  their  turning  a  corner,  and  had  they 
gone  openly  and  in  the  light  of  day  out  into  the 
street,  they  would  have  found  themselves  in  an 
other  part  of  the  town.  The  Head  Captain 
crept  in  through  a  low  window.  He  was  entirely 
wrapped  up  in  his  dreadful  character.  Blind  to 
consequences,  hardly  looking  to  see  if  the  others 
followed  him,  he  worked  his  way  over  the  sill  and 
stared  about  him.  Imagination  was  no  longer 
necessary.  No  fine-spun  trickery  was  needed  to 
turn  the  too-familiar  places  into  weird  dens,  the 
well-known  barns  into  menacing  danger-traps. 
Here  all  was  new,  untried,  of  endless  possibilities. 
It  was  a  clean,  spacious  spot.  Great  shadowy, 
white-draped  carriages  stood  along  the  sides ;  a 
smell  of  varnish  and  new  leather  prevailed.  On 
the  walls  hung  fascinating  garden  tools  :  quaint- 
[51] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 


nosed  watering-pots,  coils  of  hose,  a  lawn  foun 
tain.  All  was  still.  The  Head  Captain  strode 
across  the  floor,  extending  his  hand  with  a  majes 
tic  sweep. 

"  All  these  things  —  all  of  'em  —  anything  we 
want,  we  can  take !  "  he  muttered,  but  not  to 
them.  They  could  plainly  see  he  was  talking  to 
himself.  Rapt  in  wild  dreams  of  unchecked 
depredation  he  stamped  about,  fingering  the  gar 
den  hose,  prying  behind  the  carriages,  tossing 
his  head  and  breathing  hard. 

Suddenly  came  a  step  as  of  a 
man  walking  on  gravel.  It  drew 
nearer,  nearer.  For  one  awful 
moment  the  Lieutenant  seemed 
in  danger  of  thinking  himself  a 
frightened  little  boy  in  a  strange 
barn  ;  he  plucked  at  his  sash  ner 
vously.  The  next  instant  two 
hands  fell  from  opposite  direc 
tions  on  his  shoulders. 

"  Get  into  a  carriage  —  quick, 
Anything  we  want 

we  can  take/'1'        quick,  quick!11  hissed  the  Head 
[52] 


A     STUDY     IN     PIRACY 

Captain,  and  he  heard  the  Vicar  panting  as  she 
shoved  him  under  the  flap  of  the  sheet  that 
draped  a  high -swung  victoria.  She  was  with 
him,  huddled  close  beside  him  on  the  floor 
of  the  carriage,  and  it  seemed  hardly  credible 
that  the  clatter  of  the  Head  Captain's  hasty 
dive  into  the  neighboring  surrey  could  have 
failed  to  catch  the  ear  of  the  man  who  entered 
the  barn.  But  he  heard  nothing.  He  walked 
by  them  lazily,  he  paused  and  struck  a  match  on 
the  wheel  of  the  victoria,  and  the  smell  of  tobac 
co  crept  in  under  the  sheet.  It  seemed  to  the 
Vicar  that  the  thumping  of  her  heart  must  shake 
the  carriage.  She  dared  not  gasp  for  breath, 
but  she  knew  she  should  burst  if  that  man  stood 
there  much  longer.  It  could  not  be  possible 
that  he  wouldn't  find  them.  Ah,  how  little  he 
knew !  Right  under  his  very  pipe  lay  those 
who  could  take  away  everything  in  his  old  barn 
if  they  chose.  Perhaps  the  very  surrey  that 
now  held  that  terrible  Head  Captain  might  be 
gone  ere  morning,  he  had  such  ambitions,  such 
vaulting  dreams. 

[53] 


THE     MADNESS      OF     PHILIP 


Thump  !  thump  !  thump  !  went  her  heart,  and 
the  Lieutenant's  breath  whistled  through  his 
teeth.  Never  in  their  lives  had  such  straining 
excitement  possessed  their  every  nerve.  Oh,  go 
on,  go  on,  or  we  shall  scream  ! 

He  sauntered  by,  he  opened  some  door  at 
the  rear.  The  latch  all  but  clicked,  when  a 
hollow  but  unmistakable  sneeze  burst  from  the 
Head  Captain's 
surrey.  Imme 
diately  the  door- 
opened  again. 
The  man  took 
a  step  back. 
All  was  deathly 
still,  the  echoes 
of  their  leader's 
fateful  sneeze 
alone  thrilled  the 
hearts  of  his  an 
guished  follow 
ers. 

"Hum  p  h  !  "  "  She  knew  she  should  burst  if  that 

[54] 


A     STUDY     IN     PIRACY 


muttered  a  deep  voice,   "  that's  queer.     Anybody 

out  there  ?  " 

Silence.      Silence  that  buzzed  and  hummed  and 

roared  in  the  Vicar's  ears. 

"  Queer  —  I  thought  I  heard.     .     .     .     Damn 

queer ! "    muttered    the    man.     The    Lieutenant 

shuddered.     That  was  a  word  whose  possibilities 

he  hesitated  to  consider.     Piracy  is  bad  enough, 

heaven  knows, 
but  profanity  is 
surely  worse. 

Again  the 
*.•  latch  clicked. 
After  an  artful 
pause  the  nose  of 
the  Head  Cap 
tain  appeared, 
inserted  at  an 
inquiring  angle 
between  the  two 
sheets  that 
draped  the  sur- 

man  stood  there  much  longer."  reV-      Cautiously 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

he  swung  himself  down,  cautiously  he  tiptoed 
toward  the  others. 

"  Sst !  Sst !  All  safe  !  "  he  whispered.  They 
scrambled  out,  and  a  glance  at  his  reserved  frown 
taught  them  that  the  recent  sneeze  must  not  be 
mentioned. 

Like  cats  they  crept  up  the  stairs,  and  only 
the  Head  Captain's  great  presence  of  mind  pre 
vented  their  falling  backward  down  the  flight,  for 
there  on  the  hay  before  them  lay  a  man  stretched 
at  full  length,  breathing  heavily.  His  face  was  a 
deep  red  in  color,  and  a  strong,  sweetish  odor 
filled  the  loft.  They  turned  about  at  the  Head 
Captain's  warning  gesture,  and  waited  while  he 
stole  fearfully  up  and  examined  the  man.  When 
he  rejoined  them  there  was  a  new  triumph  in  his 
eyes,  a  greater  exaltation  in  his  hurried  speech. 

"  Come  here,  Lieutenant !  " 

"  Aye,  aye,  sir." 

"  This  is  a  dead  pirate.  He  died  defending  — 
defending  his  life.  He  will  be  discovered  if  we 
leave  him  here." 

This  seemed  eminently  probable.  The  Lieu- 
[561 


A     STUDY     IN     PIRACY 

tenant  looked  alarmed.  He  took  a  step  or  two 
on  the  loft  floor  and  returned,  relieved. 

"  No,  he  ain't  dead,  either,1'  he  announced, 
"  he's  only  as  — 

"  He  is  dead,"  repeated  the  Head  Captain 
firmly.  "  Dead,  I  say.  You  shut  up,  will  you  ? 
And  we  must  bury  him." 

The  Lieutenant  looked  sulky  and  chewed  the  end 
of  his  sash.  To  be  so  put  down  before  the  Vicar  ! 
It  was  hardly  decent.  And  she,  in  her  usual  and 
irritating  way,  grasped  the  situation  immediately. 

"  We  must  bury  him  right  off,"  she  whispered 
excitedly,  "  before  that  man  gets  up  here." 

"  That  man,"  added  the  Head  Captain,  "  is  a 
dreadful  bad  fellow,  I  tell  you.  If  he  was  to 
catch  us  up  here,  I  don't  know  —  I  don't  know 
but  he'd  —  here,  come  back,  Lieutenant !  Come 
back,  I  say  ! " 

They  stole  up  to  the  dead  pirate,  who  had  not 
the  appearance  attributed  by  popular  imagination 
to  those  who  have  died  nobly.  The  Lieutenant 
was  frankly  in  the  dark  as  to  his  superior  officer's 
intentions. 

[57] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

"  If  you  take  him  off'  to  bury  him  he'll 
wake " 

"  Hush  your  noise ! "  interrupted  the  Head 
Captain  angrily. 

The  Vicar  could  not  wait  for  any  one  else's 
initiative,  but  began  feverishly  pulling  up  hand- 
fuls  of  hay  and  piling  them  lightly  over  the  dead 
pirate's  boots.  The  Head  Captain  covered  the 
man's  body  with  two  hastily  snatched  armfuls, 
and  as  the  Vicar's  courage  gave  out  at  this  point, 
coolly  laid  a  thin  wisp  directly  over  the  red  face. 
The  pirate  was  buried.  It  gave  one  a  thrill  to 
see  hardly  a  dim  outline  of  his  figure. 

"  Hats  off',  my  men,"  whispered  the  Head 
Captain,  hoarse  with  emotion,  "and  we  will  say 
a  prayer.  Lieutenant,"  with  a  noble  renuncia 
tion  in  his  expression,  "you  may  say  the 
prayer !  " 

The  Lieutenant  was  touched,  and  melted  from 
his  sulky  scorn. 

"  What'll  I  say  ?  What'll  I  say  ?  "  he  muttered 
excitedly.  "  Not  '  Hollow  be  thy  Name'?  That's 
a  long  one." 

[58] 


A     STUDY     IN     PIRACY 

"  Now  I  lay "  suggested  the  Vicar  tremu 
lously. 

"  Pshaw,  no  !  "  interrupted  the  Head  Captain. 
"  Not  a  baby  thing  like  that !  If  you  don't 
know  one,  Lieutenant,  I'll  make  one  up.1' 

"  No,  111  say  one,"  urged  the  Lieutenant  has 
tily.  "  Fll  say  one,  Captain.  I'll  say  my  colick 
that  I  had  yesterday.  Wait  up  a  second,  till  I 
remember  it." 

The  heavy,  regular  breathing  continued  to 
come  out  from  under  the  hay,  where  lay  the 
martyred  pirate.  The  hens  in  a  near-by  hen- 
yard  cackled  shrilly,  the  trilling  of  an  indefati 
gable  canary  in  the  coachman's  rooms  rose  and  fell 
through  the  hot  June  air.  Red  and  dripping 
with  the  heat,  dusty  and  sprinkled  with  the  hay, 
the  outlaws  stood,  solemn  and  tense,  starting  at 
the  least  fancied  sound  from  below. 

The  Lieutenant  cleared  his  throat,  shut  his  eyes 
tight  to  assist  his  memory,  and  began  his  burial 
service  : 

"  Almighty  V  everlastm"1  God,  who's  given 
unto  us,  'J'hy  servants,  grace  by  the  confession  of  a 

[59] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

true  faith  f  acknowledge  ili1  glory  of  th'  Eternal 
Trinity,  and  —  and " 

"And  in  the  power  of  the  Divine  Majesty " 

prompted  the  Vicar  ostentatiously. 

"  Will  you  keep  still,  Miss  ?  Majesty  to  wor 
ship  the  Unity *,  we  beseech  Thee  that  Thou  wouldst 


"  *  Almighty  'n    everlastiri1  God.'  " 

keep  '«  -  -  keep  '*  steadfast,  er,  woiddst  keep  \9 
steadfast 

The  Lieutenant  paused  helplessly. 

"  In  this  faith"  added  the  Vicar  with  tri 
umph,  dashing  on  with  almost  unintelligible 
rapidity,  "  and  evermore  defend  'sfrom  all  ''dver- 

[60] 


A     STUDY     IN     PIRACY 

sities,  who  livest  V  re'ignest  one  God,  world  ^thout 
end.  Amen ! " 

She  took  a  necessary  breath,  and  pushed  back 
her  mask  still  further  from  her  tumbled  bang. 

The  Head  Captain  was  visibly  impressed.  It 
had  never  occurred  to  him  to  say  a  collect.  The 
Lieutenant  was  not  such  a  poor  stick,  after  all.  . 

Gravely  he  led  the  way  down-stairs  and  climbed 
abstractedly  through  the  little  window.  Some 
thing  was  evidently  on  his  mind. 

"  The  last  time  I  saw  that  pirate,"  he  began. 

The  Lieutenant  tripped,  and  sat  down  abruptly* 

"  The  —  the  last  time  you  saw  him  ? "  he 
stammered. 

"  That's  what  I  said,"  responded  the  Head  Cap 
tain  shortly.  "  The  last  time  I  saw  him  I  didn't 
s'pose  Fd  have  to  bury  him.  He'd  just  got  a  lot 
of  treasure  and  stuff  and  —  Sst !  Sst !  For  your 
lives !" 

They  scuttled  off  desperately.  The  ground  was 
new  to  them,  and  had  it  not  been  for  providential 
garbage  barrels  and  outhouses,  they  could  hardly 
have  hoped  to  conceal  themselves  from  the  man 

[61] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

who  was  raking  up  the  yard.  To  avoid  him  they 
dashed  straight  through  his  barn,  and  rounded  a 
summer-house  without  perceiving  a  small  tea-party 
going  on  there,  till  they  ran  through  it,  to  their 
own  sick  terror,  and  the  abject  amazement  of  the 
tea-party.  They  tore  through  a  hedge,  panted  a 
doubtful  moment  in  a  woodhouse,  then  took  up 


"  Then  took  itp  their  headlong  flight." 

their  headlong  flight  with  the  vague,  straining 
pace  of  crowded  dreams.  On,  on,  on.  Slip  be 
hind  that  lilac  clump  —  wait!  Sst!  Sst!  Then 
get  along !  Oh,  hurry,  hurry  !  Pick  up  your 
sash  !  Whose  is  this  yard  ?  Never  mind  !  hurry ! 
They  dropped  exhausted  under  their  own  pear 
tree. 

[62] 


A     STUDY     IN     PIRACY 

"  My,  but  that  was  a  close  shave  !  I  thought 
they'd  got  us  sure  ! "  breathed  the  Head  Captain. 

"  Wh-who  were  they  ?  "  asked  the  Lieutenant, 
round-eyed. 

"  Who  were  they  ?  Who  were  they  ? "  the 
Head  Captain  repeated  scornfully.  "  The  idea  ! 
I  guess  you'd  find  out  who  they  were  if  they 
caught  you  once  !  " 

The  Lieutenant  shot  a  sly  glance  at  the  Vicar. 
Did  she  know  ?  You  never  could  tell,  she  pretended 
so.  She  shivered  at  the  Head  Captain's  implication. 

"  Yes,  sirree,  I  guess  you'd  find  out  then,"  she 
assured  him. 

Suddenly  the  Head  Captain's  face  fell.  "The 
treasure  !  "  he  gasped.  "  It's  gone  !  " 

In  dismay  they  turned  out  their  pockets.  All 
those  vessels  of  gold  and  vessels  of  silver  were  lost 
-  lost  in  that  last  mad  rush.  All  but  the  shal 
low,  gold-colored  saucer  in  the  Vicar's  hand. 
They  looked  at  it  enviously,  but  honor  kept  them 
silent.  To  the  Vicar  belonged  the  spoils. 

"  I  don't  see  what  good  they  were,  anyhow," 
began  the  Lieutenant  morosely. 
[63] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

"'Good'?"  mimicked  the  Head  Captain,  en 
raged.  "  '  Good '  ?  Why,  didn't  we  steal  'em  ?  " 

Slowly  they  took  off  their  uniforms  and  hid 
them  under  the  back  piazza.  Slowly  the  occasion 
faded  into  the  light  of  common  day ;  objects  lost 
their  mystery,  the  barn  and  the  tool-house  im 
perceptibly  divested  themselves  of  all  glamour. 
It  was  only  the  back  yard. 

The  Head  Captain  and  the  Lieutenant  threw 
themselves  down  under  the  pear  tree  again  and 
fell  into  a  doze.  The  Vicar,  grasping  her  treas 
ure,  stumbled  up  the  back  stairs  and  took  an  in 
formal  nap  on  the  landing.  It  must  have  been  at 
this  time  that  the  gold-colored  saucer  slipped  from 
her  hand,  for  when  she  woke  on  the  sofa  in  the 
upper  hall,  it  was  nowhere  about. 

The  same  hands  that  had  transferred  her  to 
that  more  conventional  resting-place,  bathed  and 
attired  her  for  supper,  and  though  two  hours  ago 
she  would,  as  a  pirate,  have  exulted  in  her  guilty 
possession,  somehow  as  a  neat,  small  person  in 
pink  ribbons  she  felt  shy  at  approaching  the  sub 
ject,  and  ate  her  custard  in  silence. 
[64] 


A     STUDY     IN     PIRACY 


Some  time  during  the  hours  of  the  next  long 
morning,  as  she  played  quietly  on  the  piazza,  she 
caught  her  mother's  voice,  slightly  raised  to  reach 
the  cook's  ear : 

"Why,  I  suppose  it  is.  I  shouldn't  wonder,  Mag 
gie.  I  suppose  the  child  picked  it  up  somewhere. 
Did  you  hear  that,  Fred,  about  Mr.  Van  Tuyl's 


BWf 

neat,  small  person  in  pink  ribbons." 

best  harness  ?  All  scattered  through  half  the  back 
yards  on  Winter  Street.  All  those  brass  ornaments, 
and  parts  of  the  very  side-lamps,  too.  Fortunate 
ly  they  found  it  all.  Take  that  piece,  Maggie, 
and  give  it  to  the  man  when  you  see  him." 

The  Vicar  sighed.     Just  then  she  felt,  with  the 
poet,  that  home-keeping  hearts  are  happiest. 

[6,5] 


BOBBERTS   MERRY  CHRISTMAS 

ND   that's  how  I  came   to   be   born   in   a 
manger  !  "  Bobbert  concluded. 

The  baby  nodded,  her  mouth  a  com 
prehending  bud,  her  eyes  big  with  interest. 

"  Nuv'  'tory  !  Tell  Babe  nuv'  'tory  !  "  she  de 
manded. 

"  So  then  the  wise  men  came.  They  were  shep 
herds.  They  came  with  their  flocks-by-night " 

"  Huh  ? " 

"Flocks-by-night,  I  say.  It  was  something 
they  had.  They  brought  me  some  Frank's  in 
cense  

"  Unka  Fank  !     Goo-ood  Unka  Fank  ! " 

"  Will  you  keep  still  ?     I  twasn't  that  Frank." 

"  Warum  nicht?"  inquired  the  baby,  with  a 
startling  intelligibility.  Her  German,  for  some 
reason  best  known  to  herself,  was  as  distinct  as 
her  English  was  garbled. 

"  Because  it  isn't,  silly.      Uncle  Frank   isn't  a 
[69] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

wise  man  —  he's  a  p'fessor  in  college.     And  they 
brought  me  — 

"  Look  here,  Bobbert,  what  on  earth  are  you 
talking  about  ?  " 

"  I'm  telling  her  all  about  Christmas,  Uncle 
Frank."  Bobbert  removed  the  corner  of  the  rug 
from  the  baby's  mouth  and  handed  her  her  silk 
rag  doll.  "  Minna  said  to  amuse  her,  and  I  was. 
About  the  manger  I  was  telling " 

"  So  I  heard.  But  why  do  you  cast  it  in  that 
form  precisely  ?  You  see,  you  weren't  born  in 
one,  and  —  and  —  er  —  you  really  oughtn't  to 
talk  that  way,  don't  you  know." 

"  Why  wasn't  I  ?  " 

"  Because  you  weren't." 

"  Well,  where  was  I,  then  ?  " 

"  You  were  born  in  this  house." 

"  Where  in  this  house  ?  " 

"  Where  ?     Why,  upstairs,  I  suppose." 

"  Are  people  always  born  upstairs  ?  " 

"  Usually." 

"  Never  born  downstairs  at  all  ?     Didn't  you 
ever  know  anybody  that  was  born  down  - 
[70] 


BOBBER  T     S     MERRY     CHRISTMAS 

"  Oh,  stop,  Bobbert !  Go  on  amusing  your 
sister.  You  have  a  genius  for  pure  idiocy. 
Where's  your  mother  ?  " 

Bobbert's  face  fell.  The  baby  tore  off  a  bit 
of  her  doll  and  swallowed  it  unrebuked  —  it  was 
one  of  her  swallowing  days  —  and  began  wetting 
her  finger  and  following  in  a  smudgy  outline  the 
figures  on  the  Kate  Greenaway  wall-paper,  with 
out  one  reprimand  from  her  brother. 

"  'F  Fm  goin'  to  have  a  tree,  I  want  to  make 
it  myself.  They're  all  down  in  the  libYy,  and  I 
have  to  keep  out.  They've  got  a  ladder  in  there, 
too.  And  they  laugh  all  the  time.  I  have  to 
stay  here  with  her !  What's  the  good  o'  calling 
it  my  tree  if  I  can't  help  ?  Aunt  Helena  says 
won't  my  eyes  pop  out  when  I  see  ;  but  they 
won't." 

("  Hadn't  she  better  keep  the  doll  to  play  with 
and  eat  something  else  ?  ") 

"  I  think  I  might  go  in  !     Here,  stop  eating 

that,  Baby  !       Let  go  !     Somebody    fell   off  the 

ladder,  too,  and  there  I  was  out   in  the  hall !     I 

don't  believe  they  had   the  little  back  thing  up 

[71J 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

that  keeps  it  from  doubling  up,  sort  of,  that  way 
it  does,  you  know.  Do  you  ?  I  could  'a1  told 
them  about  that.  What's  the  good  of  a  tree, 
anyway  ?  " 

("  Do  you  think  she  improves  the  wall-paper 
with  that  border  ?  Perhaps  the  color  comes 
off.") 

"  Here,  stop  that !  Don't  suck  your  hand, 
Baby.  Oh,  goodness  !  I  wish  Minna  was  here. 
I'm  not  a  nurse.  I  never  made  such  a  fuss  when 
I  was  little,  I  know.  If  I  had  a  tree  for  anybody, 
I'd  let  them  have  the  fun  of  it.  Wouldn't  you  ?  " 

His  audience  looked  uncertain.  In  his  heart 
he  felt  that  his  nephew  was  right,  but  prudence 
restrained  him,  and  he  rose  to  go  with  a  tempo 
rizing  air.  "  Well,  you  know,  it's  usually  done 
this  way,"  he  suggested.  "  It's  supposed  to  be  in 
the  nature  of  a  surprise.  If  you  arranged  the 
whole  thing,  there  wouldn't  be  anybody  to  sur 
prise,  would  there  ?  " 

Bobbert  sniffed.  "  Oh,  if  you  stay  out,  we 
could  s'prise  you,  I  s'pose,"  he  said,  somewhat 
cynically. 

[72] 


BOBBERT     S     MERRY     CHRISTMAS 

Bobberfs  father  and  mother,  bubbling  over  with 
delight  and  busyness  and  vague  Christmas  good 
feeling,  ran  about  holding  the  same  parcels, 
straightening  the  same  red  candle,  pulling  at  the 
same  rope  of  cranberries. 

"  Isn't  it  grand,  Frank  ?  This  is  really  the 
best  we've  ever  had.  How  are  the  children  ? 
-)o  they  suspect  anything  ?  " 

tl  "Nothing  —  nothing  whatever,"  he  assured  her. 
sug)bbert  thinks  the  odor  of  hemlock  and  pop- 
fat  «s  to  be  attributed  to  the  window-boxes,  and 
with  tino  doubt  that  he  supposes  you're  conduct- 
tache  —  neral  down  here.  It's  so  still  and  sol- 
he  shouli 

that  she  tank,  how  absurd  !  Well,  I  suppose 
taste  -  -  '-i  to  suspect  - 

"  How  do  ^  sister,  your  penetration  does  you 
"  I  heard."  rt  is  only  nine,  and  he  has  only 
"  How  ?  "  nance  nine  times,  so  it  would  be 
"  I  heard."  have  any  exact  idea  of  what  you 
"  How  did  but  he  probably  has  a  dim  -  -  " 


]^  yOU  are  tiresome.     Of  course  he 
and  twDUt  how  can  he  know  the  size  of  it  ?     He 

[7.5] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

that  keeps  it  from  doubling  up,  sort  of,  that  way 
it  does,  you  know.  Do  you  ?  I  could  V  told 
them  about  that.  What's  the  good  of  a  tree, 
anyway  ?  " 

("  Do  you  think  she  improves  the  wall-paper 
with  that  border  ?  Perhaps  the  color  comes 
off.") 

"  Here,  stop  that !  Don't  suck  your  hand,  • 
Baby.  Oh,  goodness  !  I  wish  Minna  was  here.  )- 
I'm  not  a  nurse.  I  never  made  such  a  fuss  wh'ing 
I  was  little,  I  know.  If  I  had  a  tree  for  anybc.  the 
I'd  let  them  have  the  fun  of  it.  Wouldn't  y 

His  audience  looked  uncertain.     In  hie  will  de- 
he  felt  that  his  nephew  was  right,  but  rx'oncluded 
restrained  him,  and  he  rose  to  go  with 
rizing  air.      "  Well,  you  know,  it's  us \ncle  slipped 
this  way,"  he  suggested.      "  It's  suppo 
the  nature   of  a  surprise.      If  you    ering  to  corn- 
whole  thing,  there  wouldn't   be  arpes  of  pop-corn 
prise,  would  there  ?  "  vnward  ;    snowy, 

Bobbert   sniffed.      "  Oh,   if  you    sa  the  boughs  ; 
could  s'prise  you,   I  s'pose,"   he    said,  smcles  chat- 
cynically.  V,  while 
[72] 


BOBBERT     S     MERRV     CHRISTMAS 

Bobbert's  father  and  mother,  bubbling  over  with 
delight  and  busyness  and  vague  Christmas  good 
feeling,  ran  about  holding  the  same  parcels, 
straightening  the  same  red  candle,  pulling  at  the 
same  rope  of  cranberries. 

"  Isn't  it  grand,  Frank  ?  This  is  really  the 
best  we've  ever  had.  How  are  the  children  ? 
Do  they  suspect  anything  ?  " 

"Nothing  —  nothing  whatever,"  he  assured  her. 
"  Bobbert  thinks  the  odor  of  hemlock  and  pop 
corn  is  to  be  attributed  to  the  window-boxes,  and 
I  have  no  doubt  that  he  supposes  you're  conduct 
ing  a  funeral  down  here.  It's  so  still  and  sol 
emn." 

"  Oh,  Frank,  how  absurd  !  Well,  I  suppose 
he  does  begin  to  suspect " 

"  My  dear  sister,  your  penetration  does  you 
credit.  Bobbert  is  only  nine,  and  he  has  only 
seen  this  performance  nine  times,  so  it  would  be 
odd  if  he  should  have  any  exact  idea  of  what  you 
are  all  doing,  but  he  probably  has  a  dim " 

"  Now,  Frank,  you  are  tiresome.  Of  course  he 
knows,  but  how  can  he  know  the  size  of  it  ?  He 

[7.5] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

never  saw  one  so  big.  And  we  never  had  so 
many  candles  —  there  are  three  boxes  here.  And 
look  at  this.  What  do  you  think  Uncle  Ritch. 
has  sent  him  ?  " 

One  of  the  aunts  waved  at  him  a  set  of  red, 
blue  and  yellow  balls  attached  by  elastic  cords  to 
a  brightly  colored  stick. 

"  I  suppose  the  dear  old  man  thinks  Bobbert 
is  about  two  years  old  !  Where  have  you  put 
that  Japanese  juggler's  outfit,  Kate  ?  See,  Frank, 
that  beautiful  French  puzzle !  It's  awfully  inter 
esting.  I  hope  he1!!  like  it.  More  candy  ?  The 
idea !  The  child  would  die !  Where's  Father 
Robertson's  bird-book,  dear  ?  I  sha'n't  dare  let 
him  take  it  alone  ;  it's  too  exquisite.  See,  Frank, 
there  are  two  hundred  and  fifty  colored  plates. 
Isn't  it  beautiful  ?  " 

Bobbert's  uncle  fell  upon  the  book.  "  By 
George ! "  he  said,  "  but  that's  a  beauty  !  Rather 
wasted  on  Bobbert,  isn't  it?  Doesn't  know  an 
ostrich  from  a  canary,  does  he  ?  " 

"  Well,  that's   what  Father   Robertson   wants 
him  to  learn  !  "  they  cried  in  chorus. 
[76] 


BOBBERT     S     MERRY     CHRISTMAS 

He  nodded  doubtfully.  "  Pity  he  can't  come  in 
and  help,"  he  suggested,  "he'd  enjoy  this  rumpus." 

They  stared  at  him  in  consternation. 

"Why,  Francis  Robertson,  what  are  you  think 
ing  of?  Have  Bobbert  help  on  his  own  tree  ? 
Are  you  crazy?" 

"  I  suppose  it  wouldn't  do,"  he  admitted,  "but 
you  see  that's  just  what  a  little  fellow  likes  —  all 
the  noise  and  fuss  and  running  about  and  the  — 
smells,"  he  added  vaguely. 

"  The  smells  ?  "  demanded  Bobbert's  mother. 

"The  hemlock  and  the  candy  and  the  new 
smell  of  all  the  things,"  he  persisted. 

"  In  short,"  said  the  fat  one  with  the  yellow 
mustache,  looking  up  from  a  box  of  many-colored 
baubles  with  which  he  and  Aunt  Helena  were 
playing  in  undisguised  joy,  "just  what  we  like  !  " 

"  Precisely,"  remarked  Uncle  Frank. 

"  Really,"  said  Aunt  Kate,  somewhat  stiffly, 
"  if  Bobbert  and  Babe  should  help  about  the  tree, 
I  can't  quite  see  whom  we'd  call  in  to  see  it  this 
evening  !  What  are  we  working  so  hard  for  — 
to  please  ourselves  ?  " 

[77] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

"  Oh,  no  !  great  heavens,  no  ! "  cried  Uncle 
Frank. 

Bobbert's  father  appeared  with  an  armful  of 
steel  rails  and  cross-pieces.  "  What  do  you  say 
to  this,  Robertson  ? "  he  called  delightedly. 
"  Jove  !  these  are  heavy.  Three  switches  to  the 
thing,  and  you  ought  to  see  the  engine  !  There's 
a  parlor-car,  a  smoker,  and  two  passengers.  See 
the  tender  ?  Jove !  I  call  that  pretty  good. 
Ring  the  bell,  Kate.  Look  at  that  piston-rod, 
Frank  ! " 

They  clustered  about  him  excitedly. 

"Father  sent  it  round  just  now.  Wouldn't 
tell  what  he  paid  for  the  thing.  You  clamp  it 
down  to  the  carpet  —  right  through  it  goes.  There 
are  forty-two  feet  of  railing  —  how's  that  ?  Four 
curves  and  three  switches  —  regular  thing,  you 
know.  We'll  put  it  right  through  the  library, 
across  the  hall,  and  loop  it  back  in  front  of  the 
conservatory.  What  do  you  say  ?  " 

"  Won't  he  be  delighted  !  "  sighed  the  aunts. 

"  Can  we  get  it  down  before  evening  ? "  said 
Bobbert's  mother  nervously. 

[78] 


BOBBERT     S     MERRY     CHRISTMAS 

"  Well,  I  should  say  so  !  "  The  fat  one  with 
the  yellow  mustache  seized  an  armful  of  rails  and 
began  to  study  the  joinings  ;  Bobberfs  father  and 
Uncle  Christopher  explained  the  switch-workings 
eagerly  to  each  other ;  and  Bobberfs  mother  flew 
about  wondering  how  the  rugs  could  stand  it, 
and  picturing  Bobberfs  joy  as  the  train  puffed 
out  from  the  base  of  the  tree. 

"  This  is  great ! "  Uncle  Christopher  cried,  as 
the  rails  went  down  with  wonderful  celerity. 
"  Haven't  had  such  fun  in  an  age  !  Half  the  fun's 
in  getting  it  ready  !  " 

The  fat  one  with  the  mustache  glanced  up  and 
caught  Uncle  Frank's  eye. 

"  Perhaps  he'd  rather  — 

Bobberfs  mother  shook  her  head  at  them. 
"  Now  stop  right  there,"  she  said  merrily,  "  if 
you're  going  to  suggest  that  he  should  come 
down  and  help  !  You  don't  seem  to  see  my  plan 
at  all,  Frank.  I  want  this  thing  to  be  perfect  — 
I  want  it  all  to  burst  on  him  at  once.  How  can 
we  put  it  down  in  the  evening  when  we're  all 
dressed  ?  And  there  wouldn't  be  time,  anyway. 
[79] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

Oh,  Chris,  you  didn't  get  him  that,  too  ?  See 
that  lovely  dog  collar  !  And  the  chain,  too  ! 
Now  Don  will  look  respectable.  Just  step  up 
stairs,  won't  you,  Frank,  and  keep  Bob  on  that 
floor  till  supper  ?  Minna  will  bring  it  to  him 
up  there.  Hell  see  the  rails,  you  see,  if  he  comes 
down  into  the  hall.  Helena,  if  you  and  Mr. 
Ferris  eat  any  more  of  that  broken  candy,  you'll 
certainly  be  sick.  No,  I- don't  mean  ill  —  I  mean 
plain  sick." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  you're  not  going  to  let 
that  child  out  into  the  dining-room  ?  He'll  be 
so  disgusted  there'll  be  no  managing  him." 

Bobbert's  mother  looked  plaintive.  "  I  wish  to 
heaven,  Frank,"  she  said,  "  that  you  had  some 
children  of  your  own  !  Perhaps  you  wouldn't  be 
so  ridiculous  then.  How  on  earth  is  it  going  to 
hurt  Bobbert,  to-night  of  all  nights,  to  stay  in 
the  nursery  a  few  hours,  just  so  that  we  may  all 
toil  for  his  own  particular  amusement  ?  Tell 
him  a  story,  or  something.  We'll  barely  have 
time  -  -  " 

A  burst  of  laughter  interrupted  her.      Uncle 


B  O  B  B  E  R  T     S      MERRY     CHRISTMAS 


Christopher  had  wound  up  the  train  and  started 
it  on  what  extent  of  rail  was  already  laid,  to  his 
own  great  comfort  and  the  disgust  of  Bobberfs 
father  and  the  fat  one  with  the  mustache,  wrho 
shrieked  at  him  to 
"stop  it  off',"  and 
nervously  waved 
their  hands  at  the 
engine  as  it  hove 
down  upon  the  un 
finished  curve  at  the 
hearth  rug,  while 
Aunt  Helena  waved 
a  red  flag  wildly,  and 
Aunt  Kate  began  to 
pass  round  a  hat  for 
a  purse  for  "  the  brave  girl  who  risked  her  life  so 
gallantly  to  save  the  train." 

He  left  them  with  a  chuckle,  and  began  to 
mount  the  stairs  two  steps  at  a  time,  just  saving 
himself  from  falling  upon  a  huddled  group  at  the 
top  of  the  flight. 

"  What  are  they  doing  in  the  hall  ?  "  Bobbert 

[81  ] 


'  What  ara  they  doing  in  the  hall  ?  ' " 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

demanded,  abruptly,  clutching  the  baby's  skirts 
with  one  hand  and  supporting  himself  in  a  peer 
ing  attitude  with  the  other.  "  What  makes  'em 
scream  that  way  ?  Why  do  they  say,  '  Down 
brakes  '  ?  Is  it  a  game  ?  When  Aunt  Helena 
laughs  and  laughs  that  way,  she  usually  cries 
afterward." 

Uncle  Frank  towed  them  back  into  the  nurs 
ery,  and  led  the  conversation  story  ward,  but  Bob- 
bert  was  not  to  be  beguiled. 

"  I'm  tired  of  stories.  I'd  rather  be  down 
stairs,"  he  yawned.  "I  know  one  thing  —  if  I  get 
another  old  carpenter's  set,  I'll  sell  it  to-morrow 
for  five  cents.  I  hate  'em.  All  I  want's  a  boat, 
and  I  can't  have  that.  I  don't  see  why  I  can't  go 
out,  if  it  is  snowing.  I  never  can  do  a  single  thing 
I  want,  anyway." 

"  You  are  a  little  cross,"  observed  his  uncle, 
surveying  him  critically,  "  but  I  don't  know  that 
I  blame  you.  Minna's  coming  up  soon." 

"  Well,  she  better."  Bobbert  scowled  at  the 
baby,  who  smiled  sweetly  back. 

"  You're  bad,"  he  said,  shortly. 
[82] 


BOBBEET'S    M  E  R  R  Y    CHRISTMAS 

"  Oh,  ne'in"  she 


'  Oh,  nfin,'  she  smiled. 
«  Oh,  ja,'  he  scowled." 


smiled. 

"Oh,  jfl,"  he 
scowled.  "  You're 
always  chewing 
the  wrong  thing. 


jf 

y  Look     at 

J   your  shoe, 

JT       all    wet! 

What'll     Minna 

2  11 

say  r 

She  screwed  her 
face    into    wrinkles 


[83] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

and  shook  her  head,  wringing  her  hands  with 
Minna's  gesture.  "  Pfni !  pfui  dock !  's  ist 
abscheulich  !  "  she  scolded. 

"  I  don't  believe  you'll  get  a  present  at  all,"  he 
continued. 

"  Babe  get  p'es't !     Babe  get  big  p'es't ! " 

"  Not  a  one  !     Not  a  one  !  "  he  persisted. 

Her  eyes  filled ;  she  implored  him  earnestly. 

"Fease,  Babe  get  big  p'es't !  " 

«  Not  a " 

"  Stop  teasing  your  sister,  Bobbert.  Of  course 
she'll  get  a  present.  Why  not  ?  " 

"  Because  she  swore." 

"  What  on  earth  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  what  I  say." 

"  When  did  she  swear  ?  " 

"  Day  before  yesterday  night.  She  said  she 
was  going  to  be  bad  when  she  got  up,  and 
they  kept  at  her  to  say  she  wouldn't  and  she 
said  she  would.  She  can  be  the  worst  you  ever 
saw." 

"  Worse  ever  saw  !  "  echoed  the  baby. 

"  And  all  day  they  were  afraid  she  would  be, 
[84] 


B  O  B  B  E  R  T     S     MERRY     CHRISTMAS 


and  she  wasn't  and  she   wasn't,   and   she  wasn't. 

Not    till    she  went   to    bed.      And  she  said    her 

prayers  —  that  one  she  says,   '  HOT  Jesus,  mild 

and  —  something  — 

Du  '  —  and  then  she 

just  looked   right   up 

at     the     ceiling     and 

swore  as  hard  as  she 

could." 

"What    in    th    - 
time  did  she  say  ?  " 

"  She  said :  « O 
Lord !  Good  Heavens ! 
Damn  ! ' " 

"  Oh  ! " 

"And  she  got  her 
little  hands  mighty  well  slapped,  too.      She  must 
never  say  it  again,  must  you,  Baby  ?  " 

The   baby  laughed   impishly.      There  was  no 
telling  what  more  she  knew. 

At  exactly  half-past  six  the  library  doors  flew 
open  with  a  bang,  the  piano  struck  up  a  brilliant 
march  and  Minna  escorted  her  charges  pompously 
[85] 


'  '  Oh  Lord  !    Good  Heavens  ! 
Damn  ! ' " 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

down  the  stairs,  the  baby  in  white,  with  a  be 
wildering  number  of  pink  bows,  Bobbert  in  a  blue 
sailor  suit. 

Around  the  gleaming  tree  stood  a  ring  of 
aunts,  uncles  and  grandparents,  flushed  and 
happy. 

"  Merry  Christmas,  Bobbert  !  Merry  Christ 
mas,  Babe!  How  do  you  like  it  ?  Isn't  it  grand  ? 
See  the  angel  ?  See  the  pop-corn  ?  Don't  look 
at  the  floor  yet !  (No,  it  isn't  time  so  soon. 
Chris  will  start  it.)  Well,  was  it  lovely,  bless 
her  little  heart  ?  Wunderschon,  liebchen,  nicht 
wahr ?  " 

Bobbert  smiled  perfunctorily  at  the  tree, 
blinked  a  little,  leaped  through  the  ring  of  bright- 
frocked  relatives,  and  fell  upon  a  red- faced,  apolo 
getic  man  standing  with  the  group  of  delighted 
servants  near  the  door. 

"  Hello  David  !  "  he  cried.  "  When  did  you 
come  back  ?  Are  you  going  to  stay  ?  Did  you 
know  I  could  swim  ?  Will  you  tell  me  a  story 
to-night  ?  " 

David,  whose  only  fault  was  too  great  an  at- 

[86] 


BOBBERTS     MERRY     CHRISTMAS 

tachment  to  the  cup  that  cheered  him  too  fre 
quently,  and  who  had  been  devoted  to  Bobbert, 
coughed  deprecatingly  and  explained  :  "  Only 
dropped  in  for  the  tree,  Mr.  Bob,  your  papa 
havin1  asked  me  in  with  the  rest.  And  a  fine 
tree  it  is,  Fin  sure.  I  expect  most  o'  them  pres 
ents  will  be  for  you,  Mr.  Bob  ?  " 

David  prefixed  the  title  of  respect  in  public, 
but  his  private  relations  with  Bobbert  had  been 
anything  but  formal. 

Aunt  Kate,  dancing  with  impatience,  had  be 
gun  to  detach  the  presents  from  the  lower  boughs, 
and  soon  they  were  piling  up  around  him. 

"  Master  Robertson  Wheeler.  Master  Robert 
son  Wheeler  —  oh,  Bobbert,  that's  a  whopping 
fine  present.  Miss  Dorothea  Wheeler.  Siehst 
du,  mein  susses  Kind  ?  Master  Robertson  Wheel 
er.  See  what  Uncle  Ritch.  sent  you,  Bob  !  He 
forgot  how  you  had  grown  ! " 

They  were  laughing,  explaining,  thanking, 
eating,  all  at  once. 

"  And  the  candy,  motherll  keep  till  to-morrow. 
Now,  Bob,  see  !      Under  the  tree  ! " 
[87] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

The  engine  rattled  proudly  forth.  The  uncles 
and  aunts  fell  upon  it. 

"  There  !  I  told  you  it  wasn't  oiled  enough  ! 
See,  where  the  smoke-stack  joins  on  !  Will  she 
take  the  curve  by  the  rug?  See,  Bobbert,  how 
the  switches  work !  Real  switches !  Father ! 
Here,  this  way,  Father  Robertson  !  Mr.  Ferris 
is  going  to  work  the  switch.  Isn't  it  wonderful, 
Bobbert  ?  It's  from  Grandpa  Wheeler.  Thank 
him.  It  goes  through  the  hall.  Oh,  Kate,  you 
can't  work  that  switch,  can  you  ?  See  Aunt 
Kate  work  the  switch,  dear." 

Bobbert  watched  it  curiously.  He  ran  for 
ward  to  the  third  switch. 

"  Want  to  see  how  it  goes,  Bob  ?  Here,  I'll 
work  it  for  you.  It's  a  little  catchy  at  first. 
Yes  indeed,  Mr.  Robertson,  we  had  more  fun 
than  a  little  getting  this  ready,  I  assure  you. 
Quite  complete,  isn't  it  ?  " 

Uncle  Christopher  began  to  juggle  with  the 
Japanese  outfit,  to  the  intense  delight  of  the  ser 
vants.  The  aunties  and  Mr.  Ferris  played  with 
the  engine  explaining  its  mechanism  to  the  won- 
[88] 


BOBBERT     S     MERRY     CHRISTMAS 

dering  grandfathers.  Grandma  Wheeler  marvelled 
at  the  French  dissecting  puzzle.  Bobbert's  mother 
happily  guarding  the  candy,  laughed  at  the  baby, 
who,  harnessed  into  the  dog  collar,  pranced  along 
before  her  father,  waving  the  colored  balls  in  the 
air,  a  woolly  lamb  under  her  free  arm.  The 
merry  moments  passed. 

Suddenly  Grandfather  Wheeler  looked  up  from 
the  bird-book,  which  he  was  sharing  with  Uncle 
Frank.  "  But  where  is  Robertson,  Jr.  ?  "  he  in 
quired  mildly. 

They  stared.  "  Why,  right  here,1'  they  said. 
But  he  was  not  right  there. 

Uncle  Frank  looked  about  comprehensively  at 
the  relatives  and  smiled  a  superior  smile.  Then 
his  eye  fell  on  the  bird-book  in  his  lap,  and  the 
smile  changed  its  quality. 

He  glanced  at  the  ring  of  servants.  "  And 
where  is  David  ?  "  he  added.  Suddenly  he  sprang 
to  his  feet.  "Come  on!"  he  said.  "We'll 
find  him.  Don't  make  a  noise  —  walk  softly, 
now." 

And  still  holding  the  presents,  they  trooped 
[89] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

after  him  through  the  hall,  Bobbert's  mother 
close  to  the  leader,  the  aunties  and  Mr.  Ferris  at 
the  end  of  the  line.  Through  the  dining-room, 
through  the  wide  pantry,  through  the  hall,  and 
up  to  the  kitchen  door  they  tip- toed. 

Uncle  Frank  paused  a  moment,  nodded,  and 
made  room  for  Bobberfs  father,  while  the  grand 
fathers  crowded  up  and  the  aunties  peeped  under 
and  over. 

On  the  floor  before  the  well-swept  kitchen 
hearth  sat  David  ;  beside  him,  a  little  space  away, 
squatted  Bobbert,  a  long  black  hockey-stick  in 
his  hand.  Between  them  were  arranged  large 
pieces  of  coal  from  the  hod  —  arranged  in  what 
appeared  to  be  nine-pin  patterns. 

"  I  shall  attack  from  the  right  at  daybreak. 
You'll  see  what  the  Mosquito  Fleet  can  do,  Mr. 
David  !  Your  clumsy  old  Spanish  ships  can't 
move  quick  enough  !  Can  they  ?  " 

"  Wait  and  see,  Bob,  my  boy  !  " 

"  This  coal  makes  dandy  ships  —  don't  it  ?  A 
lot  of  coal  would  be  a  fine  present  —  wouldn't  it? 
They  use  wood  upstairs,  and  I  don't  believe  I 
[90] 


B  O  B  B  E  K  T     S     MERRY     CHRISTMAS 

could  get  hold  of  any.  Are  you  enjoying  your 
self,  David  ?  " 

"  You  bet  I  am,  Bob.  Put  your  flagship  in 
line." 

"  Well,  I  will.  She  was  out  for  —  for  repairs. 
When  I  go  skating,  David,  I'll  never  use  any 
other  hockey-stick.  I  wanted  a  black  one  next 
to  a  boat.  You  were  lovely  to  give  it  to  me. 
Til  be  big  enough  for  a  boat  next  year,  I 
hope." 

"  Well,  now  it's  daybreak.  Lieutenant,  are 
you  ready  ?  " 

"  Aye,  aye,  sir." 

"  Begin  the  fight !  " 

"  Aye,  aye,  sir." 

The  coal  flew  about  thick  and  fast,  the  com 
manders  shuffled  the  lumps  into  place,  cheering 
and  encouraging  their  officers  and  crews.  Ship 
after  ship  sank,  to  rise  no  more,  in  a  clatter  of 
coal  on  the  hearth. 

Under  cover  of  the  noise  Uncle  Frank  led 
them  away,  silent,  through  the  empty  rooms,  to 
where  the  deserted  Christmas  tree  sheltered  only 
[911 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

Minna,  cooing  German  cradle-songs  to  her  sleep 
ing  baby. 

"  Now  look  here,"  he  said.  "  Let's  be  sensible, 
dear  people.  We'll  go  on  enjoying  our  presents 
and  sports  —  and  let  Bobbert  enjoy  his.  Why 
not,  eh  ?  " 


[92] 


THE   HEART   OF   A   CHILD 


THE  HEART  OF  A  CHILD 

THE  sun-glare  lies  on  the  road  and  the 
field  and  the  house.     The  beetles  buzz 
and  buzz,  and  the  hens  chuckle  drowsily, 
half  sunk  in  the  gray  dust.     There  are  only  three 
little  white  clouds  in  all  the  warm  blue  sky.      It  is 
quite  still,  except  for  the  hens  and  the  beetles  and 
the  occasional  flap  of  the  collie's  tail  on  the  warm 
flags.      No  one  passes  up  or  down  the  road.      It  is 
the  hot  noon  sleep  of  the  country  in  August. 

Suddenly  comes  the  grating  sound  of  something 
dragged  over  the  floor,  and  the  door  opens.  The 
Child  pushes  out  with  a  little  wooden  rocking- 
chair  and  a  great  tin  pan  heaped  with  unshelled 
peas.  She  stands  the  chair  carefully  in  the  coolest 
patch  of  shade  and  squeezes  her  plump  little  body 
between  the  curved  arms.  Her  blue-checked 
apron  is  tied  by  the  waistband  around  her  neck 
-  it  is  a  grown  woman's  apron,  and  covers  her 
and  the  chair,  which  is  far  too  small  for  her,  now. 
[95] 


THE     M  A  D  N  K  S  S     OF      PHILIP 

But  one  cannot  be  always  eight  years  old,  and 
when  one  is  eleven  shall  one  relinquish  without  a 
pang  the  birthday  gifts  of  one's  childhood  ? 

She  lays  the  pan  beside  her  and  puts  a  handful 
of  peas  into  her  blue-checked  lap.  She  presses 
her  brown  little  thumb  against  the  sharp  green 
edge  and  drags  it  down  the  pod.  Out  patter  the 
little  green  balls,  and  rattle  into  the  pan.  Truly, 
a  pleasant  sound !  Like  the  rain  on  the  roof. 
When  she  was  very  little  and  slept  with  her 
mother,  she  woke  once  in  the  night,  and  it  was 
raining  hard.  The  thunder  frightened  her,  and 
her  mother  comforted  her  and  sang  her  to  sleep 
in  the  bed.  And  when  the  lightning  flashed  and 
all  the  room  was  bright  and  dreadful,  her  mother 
told  her  to  keep  her  eyes  shut  and  then  the  flashes 
would  not  trouble  her.  So  she  screwed  her  eyes 
hard  together  and  held  her  mother's  hand  and 
drifted  off  to  sleep. 

That  was  so  long  ago  !  But  whenever  any 
thing  rattles  and  patters  she  shuts  her  eyes  quickly, 
and  sees  for  a  moment  the  dark  room  and  the 
square  white  counterpane,  and  hears  her  mother 
[96] 


THE     HEART     OF     A     CHILD 

singing  "  Mary  of  Argyle."  She  wonders  if  when 
we  die  and  go  to  heaven  we  are  reminded  by  little 
sights  and  sounds  of  what  we  used  to  do  on  earth. 
Of  course,  we  shall  do  only  pleasant  things  there, 
but  they  might  remind  us  of  the  pleasant  things 
here  —  the  pasture  in  the  early  morning,  when  it 
is  so  still  and  cool  and  almost  strange  ;  the  barn, 
full  of  sweet  piles  of  hay,  musical  with  pigeons, 
checkered  with  amber  sunlight,  a  fairy  palace  on 
whose  fragrant  divans  one  sits  with  sultans  and 
slave  girls,  and  listens  to  Sindbad  and  Aladdin  ; 
the  shady  porch,  where  cool  white  milk  and  dark 
shiny  gingerbread  wait  the  weary,  berry-stained 
wanderer.  In  the  brown  book  in  the  parlor  is  a 
poem  about  a  little  girl  who  used  to  "  take  her 
little  porringer  and  eat  her  supper  there."  The 
Child  feels  like  that  little  girl  when  she  eats  in 
the  porch. 

There  is  another  little  girl  in  the  brown  book  — 
"  Sweet  Lucy  Gray."  She  thinks  of  Lucy  when  she 
comes  home  alone  at  dusk,  and  quickens  her  steps. 

For  some  maintain  unto  this  day 

She  is  a  living  child 

[97] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

How  frightened  she  would  be !  Not  that  the 
Child  has  been  foolishly  taught  to  fear.  Only  that 
she  is  imaginative,  and  knows  enough  to  be  afraid. 

In  that  poem  there  is  mention  of  one  "  minster- 
clock."  What  may  that  be  ?  She  connects  it 
hazily  with  the  watch  that  the  minister  takes  out 
before  the  sermon.  But  that  could  never  strike. 
If  she  could  have  one  wish  in  all  her  life  she 
knows  what  it  would  be.  A  beautiful  gold  watch 
all  chased  with  figures  and  a  cherry-colored  ribbon 
tied  into  the  handle.  Then  she  would  put  it  into 
her  waist  —  but  her  dresses  open  in  the  back  !  The 
disadvantages  of  youth  are  obvious  enough,  in 
all  conscience,  without  that  last  pathetic  touch. 
When  can  she  have  a  separate  waist  and  skirt  ? 

Suppose  she  should  die  before  she  grows  old 
enough  to  attain  this  glory  ?  People  have  died 
when  they  were  young  —  much  younger  than  she. 
The  little  Waters  girl  died,  and  she  was  only  nine. 
The  Child  went  to  the  funeral,  but  not  with  her 
mother.  She  slipped  into  the  kitchen  and  listened 
at  the  door.  When  she  told  her  mother  that  she 
had  gone  her  mother  looked  at  her  so  strangely. 
[98] 


THE     HEART     OK     A     CHILD 

"  Why  did  you  want  to  go  ?  "  she  said.  The 
Child  could  not  tell. 

"  It  made  me  cry,"  she  answered,  "  but  I  felt 
good,  too.  I  want  her  to  tell  my  brother  that  I 
am  pretty  well,  and  that  I  hope  he  is  the  same, 
when  she  gets  to  heaven.  Do  you  suppose  she 
will  get  there  by  to-night  ?  " 

They  talked  about  her  conduct  on  that  occasion 
so  strangely  and  so  long  that  she  never  spoke  any 
more  with  them  about  death  or  the  life  after  it. 
But  she  thought  about  these  things. 

She  wondered  whether  Mary  Waters  remem 
bered  the  secret  place  they  made  together  in  a 
hollow  gate-post.  Mary  Waters  had  a  way  of 
sometimes  telling  things  not  quite  as  they  really 
were.  Did  she  do  so  now  ?  Or  had  she  told 
enough  lies  to  send  her  to  hell  ?  For  liars  inherit 
hell.  It  is  not  that  this  fact  has  been  impressed 
upon  her  mind  by  others,  but  she  has  read  it  in 
the  Bible  and  heard  it  read. 

There  are  strange  things  in  the  Bible.  One  is 
commanded  to  refrain  from  doing  so  many  things 
that  one  never  would  do  anyway.  But  those 
[99] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

things  must  have  been  done  by  the  Israelites  and 
the  Pharisees  and  the  Hittites  and  the  Publicans. 
Then  did  God  mean  that  the  Americans  must 
keep  the  same  laws  ?  But  Americans  were  free 
and  equal.  They  threw  over  the  tea,  and  with 
a  wild  whoop  —  wait !  let  us  pretend  ! 

This  is  Boston.  It  is  still  and  quiet.  Night 
is  dark  all  around.  Soft  and  stealthy  come  foot 
steps  —  the  Indians !  They  gather  from  the 
shadows  of  the  trees  and  houses,  they  wave  their 
tomahawks  exultantly,  they  glide  to  the  wharf. 
In  their  path  stands  a  little  girl  in  a  blue-checked 
apron.  She  falls  upon  her  knees  in  terror. 

"  Save  me ! "  she  cries.  The  chief  laughs  a 
horrid  laugh  ;  he  raises  his  tomahawk  —  the  dog 
barks  loud  and  the  Child  nearly  drops  the  peas 
in  her  lap,  so  frightened  she  is. 

"  I  thought  they  were  real !  I  thought  they 
were  coming  ! "  she  whispers  to  herself. 

Let  us  think  of  pleasant  things  !  Peas  are  so 
small  if  you  count  them  by  ones  !  If  people  con 
sidered  whenever  they  gobbled  peas  so  quickly 
that  every  one  had  to  be  shelled  by  one  poor, 
[100] 


THE     HEART     OF     A     CHILD 

tired  little  girl  !  But  no,  they  eat  them  with 
out  a  thought  of  how  she  sat  in  the  little  tight 
chair  and  rattled  them  into  the  pan.  If  they 
were  only  rich  enough  to  leave  the  chair  and  the 
peas  and  the  farm  and  go  to  a  city !  What 
city  ?  Oh,  New  York  or  Boston  or  Persia.  In 
Persia  the  days  are  full  of  richness  and  the 
nights  are  Arabian.  Along  the  streets  walk 
veiled  and  lovely  women  —  does  it  matter  that  to 
the  Child  their  veils  are  of  the  dull  blue  cotton 
that  wreathes  her  mother's  hat  ?  By  all  the  Per 
sian  monarch*,  no !  —  driving  black  dogs  and 
white  hinds,  followed  by  turbaned  slaves  and 
glaring  eunuchs,  with  misty  genii  hovering  in  the 
background.  They  enter  a  frowning  portal  — 
but  let  us  pretend  ! 

This  is  Persia.  The  streets  are  narrow ;  the 
people  jostle  and  crowd  to  one  side  a  little  girl  in 
a  blue-checked  apron.  She  walks  along  unknown, 
unnoticed.  Wait !  Who  is  this  ?  It  is  a  slave 
in  a  turban  with  a  scimitar  flashing  with  jewels. 
He  bows  low. 

"  I  am  bidden  to  tell  you  that  your  presence 
[101] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

is  desired  by  my  master,  lovely  maiden  ! "     The 
lovely  maiden  looks  haughtily  at  him. 

"  I  will  follow  you,  Slave,"  she  says.  They  go 
on  to  a  low  narrow  door.  The  slave  says  a  magic 
word  and  the  door  swings  open.  Through  a  long 
passage  and  a  great  hall  they  go.  There  bursts 
upon  them  a  radiance  of  light.  Flowers  fill  the 
air  with  an  unearthly  fragrance.  Golden  goblets 
and  ruby  pitchers  stand  on  silver  salvers  with 
"dried  fruit,  cakes,  and  sweetmeats,  which  give  an 
appetite  for  drinking."  Lovely  slave  girls  lead 
the  maiden  to  the  bath,  and  attire  her  in  rich  and 
costly  robes.  They  seat  her  in  a  golden  chair 
and  give  her  a  bowl  of  seed-pearls  to  string. 
(These  are  the  pearls.)  She  lifts  her  lovely  head 
and  says  in  a  voice  of  silver  music,  "  Where  is 
your  master  ?  " 

"  Lady,"  says  one  of  the  slaves,  bowing  low, 
"  he  comes."  She  hears  the  feet  of  the  approach 
ing  prince ;  she  dares  not  raise  her  eyes.  How 
will  he  look  ?  What  gift  will  he  bring  ?  She 
sinks  her  hands  deep  in  the  pearls.  Ah,  what  is 
that  ?  A  great  sweet-bough  drops  in  the  pan. 
[102] 


THE     HEART     OF     A     CHILD 

"  Your  gran'ma  wants  them  peas  ! "  says  the 
prince  in  genial  rebuke.  Alas  !  And  did  Ha- 
roun-al-Raschid  speak  through  his  nose  ? 

The  Child  stares  at  him,  dazed. 

"  These  —  these  are  pearls  !  "  she  says.     "  I  am 


"  These  are  the  pearls." 


stringing  them  for  my  girdle!  Does  your  Highness 
desire  that  I  should  wear  this  —  this  carbuncle  ?  " 

His  Highness  laughs  loud  and  long. 

"  It's  a  sweet- bough,"  he  chuckles,  "  and  I 
guess  you  better  eat  it  right  up,  now.1'  One  mo 
ment  of  wavering  :  shall  awful  wrath  come  upon 
this  desecrator  of  the  soul's  best  rites,  or  good 

[103] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

fellowship  and  feasting  be  given  him  ?  She 
scowls,  she  shrugs  her  aproned  shoulders,  she 
glances  from  beneath  her  lashes,  she  smiles. 

"  111  give  you  half,"  she  announces.  After  all, 
it  is  hardly  probable  that  the  prince  would  have 
helped  her  shell  the  peas.  And  William  Searles 
will,  if  he  is  only  the  chore-boy.  Vain  hope  ! 

"  I  got  to  drive  the  chickens  'round  back,11  he 
demurs.  "  I  can't  spend  my  time  shellin1  peas. 
Your  gran'ma  says  if  you  don't  get  'em  done 
pretty  soon  you  can't  go  over  to  Miss  Salome's 
this  afternoon.  She  says  you're  a  dreadful  slow 
child ! " 

This  is  the  last  straw.  The  Child  rises  with 
what  would  indeed  be  a  freezing  dignity  were  it 
not  that  with  her  rises  the  birthday-chair. 
"  William,"  she  begins.  But  more  suddenly  than 
is  consistent  with  her  tone  she  sinks  back.  Will 
iam  sits  upon  the  grass  shaking  with  laughter. 

"You  looked  so  awful  funny,  so  awful  funny!  " 
he  gasps.     The  Child   hangs  for  a  moment   be 
tween  tears  and  laughter.     Then  she  accepts  the 
situation  and  laughs  as  merrily  as  the  chore-boy 
[104] 


THE     HEART     OF     A     CHILD 

"  I  was  pretending  I  was  a  princess,"  she  ex 
plains.  "  I  - 

"  Ho  !  "  rejoins  William,  "you  ain't  like  a  prin 
cess  !  You  don't  look  like  the  ones  you  tell  about, 
anyway  !  Why  "  —  as  she  glares  at  him  over  the 
apron,  "  your  hair's  red,  red  !  An'  your  eyes  are 
kind  o'  green,  they  are  !  An1  you're  just  jam- 
packed  full  o'  freckles  !  I  guess  I  know  well 
enough  how  they  look,  and  you  ain't  like  'em  ! " 

The  tears  stand  in  her  eyes,  but  she  will  not 
let  them  fall. 

"  I  don't  care,  William  Searles,"  she  says 
bravely,  "  I  may  look  freckled,  but  I  don't  feel  so! 
And  it's  better  to  know  how  they  look  than  —  " 
But  no  !  She  is  an  honest  Child,  with  all  her 
imaginings.  She  knows  that  it  is  better  to  look 
like  them  than  to  know  about  them  :  better  for 
the  maiden  and  the  prince,  at  least.  William 
waits  for  the  sentence.  She  begins  again. 

"  William  Searles,"  she  says  solemnly,  "  wouldn't 
you  rather  I  could  tell  you  about  those  princesses 
than  look  like  them  ? "  William's  eyes  sparkle 
greedily. 

[105] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

**  You  bet ! "  he  replies  with  fervor.  The 
Child  sighs  with  relief. 

"  All  right,"  she  says,  "  then  don't  complain." 

She  is  alone  again,  and  only  William's  faint 
and  fainter  invitations  to  the  chickens  break  the 
silence.  The  peas  fly  into  the  pan.  Suppose 
she  should  be  kept  from  Miss  Salome's !  But  no, 
that  shall  not  be.  She  looks  ahead  to  the 
happy  afternoon,  singing  as  she  works. 

And  now,  and  now  the  time  has  come.  The 
dishes  are  wiped,  the  cat  fed,  and  the  fennel 
picked  for  the  long  sermon  to-morrow.  She,  her 
very  self,  in  her  new  dotted  lawn  walks  carefully 
up  the  hill  to  the  big  house,  terraced  and  gravel- 
pathed.  She  knocks  timidly  at  the  brass  ring 
and  the  tall  colored  butler  lets  her  in.  He  is  the 
only  indoor  man-servant  she  has  ever  seen,  and 
she  reverences  him  greatly.  He  smiles  conde 
scendingly  at  her,  as  he  smiles  not  upon  all  the 
country  people. 

"  If  Miss  will  walk  up,"  he  says.  She  goes  up 
the  soft-carpeted  stairs  into  the  upstairs  drawing- 
room.  She  draws  a  long  breath  of  happiness  and 
[106] 


THE     HEART     OF     A     CHILD 

wonder  ever  new,  and  makes  her  little  courtesy  to 
Miss  SaLome. 

Out  of  the  dim  delicious  dusk  of  the  room 
come  slowly  the.  familiar  treasures  :  the  high  pol 
ished  desk,  the  great  piano,  the  marvelous  service 
of  Delft  that  fills  a  monstrous  sideboard  in  the 
distance,  the  chairs,  all  silk  and  satin  and  shining 
wood,  the  great  pictures  in  gilt  frames.  In  the 
largest  chair  sits  Miss  Salome.  Will  the  Child 
ever  tire  of  looking  at  her  pale  lined  face,  her  sil 
ver  high-dressed  hair,  her  beautiful  hands  spar 
kling  with  rings,  her  haughty  mouth,  her  tired, 
troubled  eyes  ?  She  must  have  been  almost  as 
lovely  as  the  Princess  Angelica,  once.  But  she 
smiles  so  seldom.  She  puts  out  her  hand. 

"  And  what  has  happened  since  last  Satur 
day  ?  "  she  says. 

The  Child  laughs  for  pure  joy.  To  talk,  to 
describe,  to  venture  at  analysis,  to  ask  the  why 
and  wherefore,  to  illustrate  by  gesture  as  vivid  as 
her  speech  —  these  things  are  her  happiness.  To 
be  suffered  this  joy  in  snatches  is  much,  to  have 
it  demanded,  and  for  one  whole  afternoon  !  Here 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

is  no  one  to  reprove,  no  one  to  blame  the  idle 
hands,  no  one  to  question  the  propriety  of  mim 
icry,  or  to  insist  on  her  sitting  in  her  little  chair. 

Miss  Salome  watches  her  flitting  about  the 
dusky  parlor,  her  reddish  gold  hair  gleaming  now 
against  the  Delft  blue,  now  against  the  polished 
mahogany  desk.  She  tells  of  the  chickens  that 
lost  their  mother.  She  wanders  about  clucking 
for  her  brood  and  cooing  over  the  returned  prodi 
gals.  She  walks  across  the  room  as  William  does 
—  her  slouching  gait,  open  mouth,  drawling  voice, 
irresistibly  perfect.  She  describes  the  shooting 
star  that  seemed  to  her  like  a  lost  spirit,  gone  to 
sorrow  and  the  earth. 

"  It  made  me  think  of  '  Lucifer,  son  of  the 
morning,  how  art  thou  fallen  ! ' "  she  says  sol 
emnly.  "  I  wonder  how  that  star  felt,  Miss  Sa 
lome  ?  " 

There  is  a  long  pause.     The  lady  sighs. 

Then,  "  You  may  read,  if  you  like,"  she  says 
at  last. 

The  Child's  face  flushes  for  joy.  She  runs  to 
the  book-cases  and  brings  out  a  small  brown 

f  108  1 


THE     HEART     OF     A     CHILD 

book.  She  fingers  lovingly  the  tree -calf  that 
covers  the  precious  pages,  and  opens  them  before 
she  finds  her  chair.  She  curls  up  on  a  great  satin 
ottoman  and  smooths  the  leaves.  Where  is  the 
farm  ?  Where  the  peas  ?  Where  William  ? 
They  are  less  than  shadows,  more  unreal  than 
dreams.  Her  voice  trembles  as  she  begins : 

"  '  And  now,  your  Highness  permitting,  I  shall 
relate  to  your  Majesty  one  of  the  most  surprising 
adventures  ever  known  to  your  Majesty  — 1<l 
Ah,  it  is  good  to  have  been  a  child  and  per 
fectly  happy. 

What  do  children  know  of  life,  she  thinks,  who 
play  with  tops  and  dogs  and  kittens  ?  There  are 
books  in  the  world.  And  they  own  all  lands 
and  seas  and  peoples,  who  own  those  printed 
leaves.  Even  Miss  Salome  does  not  know  as 
much  as  the  books.  Even  Miss  Salome  cannot 
say  such  curious  wonderful  things.  Why  is  Miss 
Salome  so  good  to  her  ?  In  heaven,  will  they 
see  each  other  ?  "  In  my  Father's  house  are 
many  mansions."  Suppose  she  should  be  put  in 
Miss  Salome's  ?  Will  the  "  Arabian  Nights  "  be 
[109] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

there  ?  When  she  lifts  her  eyes  from  the  book 
they  fall  on  an  immense  peacock -feather  fan.  It 
glows  on  the  wall,  and  the  eyes  dilate  and  trem 
ble  and  satisfy  her  hungry  little  soul  with  the 
color  she  loves.  On  a  small  table  near  her  stands 
a  sandal-wood  cabinet.  Its  faint  sweet  smell 
mingles  with  the  spices  and  gums  of  the  tale,  and 
should  a  Genius  spring  from  the  cover  and  bow 
to  the  ground  before  them,  she  would  not  be  sur 
prised. 

With  a  sigh  of  pleasure  she  releases  the  prin 
cess  and  outwits  the  evil  spirit. 

"  '  And  now  if  your  Majesty  would  care  to 
listen  to  the  story  of  the  Fisherman  — 

"  That  is  enough,"  says  Miss  Salome.  "  Are 
you  tired  ?  "  The  Child's  eyes  answer  her. 

"  Then  sing  to  me." 

"  What  shall  I  sing  ?  "  says  the  Child.  "  '  Lord 
LovelP"? 

"  If  you  like,"  answers  Miss  Salome. 

The  Child  rises  and  stands  before  the  great 
chair.  Her  face  is  raised  and  serious.  She 
knows  only  ballads,  but  to  her  they  are  opera 

I   HOI 


THE     HEART     OF     A     CHILD 

and  symphony  in  one.     She  clasps  her  hands  and 

begins : 

Lord  Lovell  he  stood  at  his  castle  gate, 
A-combing  his  milk-white  steed, 
When  out  came  Lady  Nancy  Bell, 
To  wish  her  lover  good  spee-ee-eed, 
To  wish  her  lover  good  speed. 

Her  voice  rings  true  as  a  bell.     Miss  Salome 
smiles  at  the  eager  little  face. 


J'  JJ  *  *   *  N  J  /  J 


"  Now  where  are  you  going,  Lord  Lovell  ?  "  she  said, 
"  Now  where  are  you  going  ?  "  said  she. 
"  I'm  going  away,  dear  Nancy  Bell, 

Strange  countries  for  to  see-ye-ye, 

Strange  countries  for  to  see  !  " 

She  carries  them  through  fateful  verses  and  un 
consciously  softens  and  saddens  her  voice  at  the 
woful  ending,  where 

They  buried  the  lady  in  the  nave  of  the  church, 
They  buried  the  lord  in  the  choir. 
And  out  of  her  bosom  there  grew  a  red  rose, 
And  out  of  her  lover  s  a  brier-ier-ier, 
And  out  of  her  lover's  a  brier. 
[Ill] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

Miss  Salome  applauds  vigorously. 

"  One  more,"  she  begs. 

The  Child's  heart  grows  big  with  happiness. 
That  she  should  love  it  so,  and  yet  with  it  pleas 
ure  others  !  It  is  too  much  joy.  She  will  make 
a  special  prayer  to-night  and  thank  God,  as  does 
her  grandmother,  for  unexpected  bounty. 

"  I  will  sing,  « Come  with  thy  lute,' "  she  says. 
It  is  a  quaint,  old-fashioned  tune,  and  her  voice 
rises  and  falls,  and  reaches  for  the  notes  with  an 
almost  pathetic  feeling  for  their  beauty  : 


Moderate. 


Come  with  thy  lute  to  the  fountain, 
Sing  me  a  song  of  the  mountain. 
Sing  of  the  happy  and  free :  — 

She  looks  at  the  lovely  lady  in  the  white  satin 
gown  in  the  great  gold  frame  before  her.  How 
beautiful  she  must  have  been  !  She  died  when 
she  was  very  young.  Her  husband  shot  himself 
with  grief  for  her.  She  might  have  sung  that 
[112] 


THE     HEART     OF     A     CHILD 

song  to  him  —  who  knows  ?  The  Child  chokes 
and  swallows  her  tears  at  the  end  of  the  song, 
and  when  she  looks  at  Miss  Salome  she  sees  that 
her  eyes,  too,  are  full  of  tears. 

"  Oh,  I  have  made  you  cry  !  I  am  sorry  —  so 
sorry  ! " 

Miss  Salome  wipes  her  eyes. 

"  If  I  make  my  guests  unhappy,  they  will  not 
care  to  come  again,"  she  says.  "  Ring  for  Peter, 
dear  child."  So  the  Child  taps  the  bell,  and 
Peter  comes  gravely  in  with  the  beautiful  silver 
tray,  and  in  a  flutter  of  delight  the  Child  forgets 
the  song  and  the  picture.  Miss  Salome  cuts  the 
dark  frosted  cake,  and  dishes  into  glass  plates 
the  candied  ginger,  floating  in  syrup,  and  pours 
out  cups  of  real  tea.  And  the  Fairy  Princess  is 
served  with  a  banquet  worthy  of  her  dreams. 
Oh,  to  be  at  last  in  Miss  Salome's  mansion  ! 

The  clock  chimes  for  half-past  five.  Heaven 
is  over.  She  brushes  the  crumbs  to  a  little  heap 
on  her  gilt-rimmed  plate. 

"  I  must  go  now,  I  think,"  she  says  with  ob 
vious  effort.  Her  hostess  smiles. 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

"  But  you  will  come  next  week  ? "  she  asks. 
And  the  Child's  face  lights  up. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  I'll  surely  come  next  week,  surely? 
she  replies  with  emphasis.  So  she  goes  around 
to  Miss  Salome's  chair,  and  the  beautiful  ringed 
hand  raises  her  face  and  strokes  her  little  freckled 
cheek. 

"  Good-by,  my  Sunshine ! "  she  says.  The 
Child  catches  the  hand  in  a  rush  of  loving  wor 
ship  and  kisses  it. 

"  I  will  never  be  cross  to  William  Searles 
again,  never ! "  she  cries.  "  I  will  be  good  to 
everybody  —  even  to  stupid  people  !  "  Miss  Sa 
lome  pinches  her  cheek  and  laughs. 

And  the  Child  goes  out  and  down  the  steps  of 
the  terrace,  rapt,  wondering,  lifted  to  a  height  of 
love  and  admiration  that  keeps  her  little  soul  to 
its  sweetest,  highest  pitch  for  —  ah,  measure  not 
the  time,  I  beg  you !  The  children  who  are 
older,  how  long  do  the  glow  and  the  flush  remain 
with  them  ?  They  can  only  say,  "  There  will  be 
another ! "  and  wait  for  it  as  well  and  patiently 
as  may  be. 

[114] 


THE     HEART     OF     A     CHILD 

The  Child  goes  back  to  the  life  of  everyday, 
and  embroiders  its  dull  web  with  eyes  of  peacocks 
and  sifts  into  it  the  scent  of  sandal -wood,  and 
sets  it  weaving  to  the  tune  of  ballads,  quaint  and 
sweet.  Yet  she  has  taken  into  another's  web, 
unknowing,  a  tiny  scarlet  thread  of  happiness, 
that  weaves  through  the  tarnished  cloth  of  silver 
and  blesses  the  pattern  as  it  grows.  And  the 
Master  of  the  Looms  has  planned  it  all. 


[115] 


ARDELIA   IN    ARCADY 


ARDELIA    IN    ARCADY 


WHEN   first   the  young  lady  from   the 
College    Settlement  dragged  Ardelia 
from  her  degradation  —  she  was  sit 
ting  on  a  dirty  pavement  and  throwing  assorted 
refuse  at  an  unconscious  policeman  —  like  many 
of  her  companions  in  misery, 
she  totally  failed  to  realize 
the  pit  from  which  she  was 
digged.     It   had   never  oc- 


"  Throwing  assorted  refuse." 

curred  to  her  that  her  situation  was  anything  less 
than  refined,  and  though,  like  most  of  us,  she  had 

[119] 


T  H  K     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

failed  to  come  up  to  her  wildest  ideals  of  happi 
ness,  in  that  respect  she  differed  very  little  from 
the  young  lady  who  rescued  her. 

"  Come  here,  little  girl,"  said  the  young  lady 
invitingly.  "  Wouldn't  you  like  to  come  with 
me  and  have  a  nice,  cool  bath  ?  " 

"  Naw,"  said  Ardelia,  in  tones  rivaling  the  bath 
in  coolness. 

"  You  wouldn't  ?  Well,  wouldn't  you  like 
some  bread  and  butter  and  jam  ?" 

"  Wha's  jam  ?  "  said  Ardelia  conservatively. 

"  Why,  it's  —  er  —  marmalade,"  the  young 
lady  explained.  "  All  sweet,  you  know." 

"  Naw  !  "  and  Ardelia  turned  away  and  fingered 
the  refuse  with  an  air  of  finality  that  caused  the 
young  lady  to  sigh  with  vexation. 

"  I  thought  you  might  like  to  go  on  a  picnic," 
she  said  helplessly.  "  I  thought  all  little  girls 


"  Picnic  ?     When  ?  "  cried  Ardelia,  moved  in 
stantly  to  interest.      "  I'm  goin1  !  " 

She    brushed   the    garbage   from    her    dress  — 
Ardelia  was  of  that  emancipated  order  of  women 


A  R  D  £  L  I  A     IN     ARCADY 

who  disapprove  of  the  senseless  multiplication  of 
feminine  garments,  and  wore,  herself,  but  one  — 
and  regarded  her  rescuer  impatiently. 

"What's  the  matter? "she  asked.  "I'm  all 
ready.  Hump  along  !  " 

"  We'll  go  and  ask  your  mother  first,  won't 
we  ? "  suggested  the  young  lady,  a  little  be 
wildered  at  this  sudden  change  of  attitude. 

"Jagged,"  Ardelia  returned  laconically.  "She'd 
lift  y'r  face  off  yer  !  Is  it  the  Dago  picnic  ?  " 

The  young  lady  shuddered,  and  seizing  the 
hand  which  she  imagined  to  have  had  least  to  do 
with  the  refuse,  she  led  Ardelia  away  —  the  first 
stage  of  her  journey  to  Arcady. 

Ardelia's  origin,  like  that  of  the  civilization  of 
ancient  Egypt,  was  shrouded  in  mystery.  At  the 
age  of  two  months  she  had  been  handed  to  a  police 
man  by  a  scared-looking  boy,  who  said  vaguely 
that  he  found  her  in  the  park  under  a  bench.  The 
policeman  had  added  her  to  the  other  foundling 
waiting  that  day  at  headquarters,  and  carried 
them  to  the  matron  of  the  institution  devoted 
to  their  interest.  Around  the  other  baby's  neck 
[121] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

was  a  medal  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  and  a  slip  of 
paper  pinned  to  her  flannel  petticoat  labeled  her 
Mary  Katharine.  The  impartial  order  of  the 
institution  therefore  delivered  Ardelia,  who  was 
wholly  unlabeled,  to  the  Protestant  fold,  and  one 
of  the  scrubbing-women  named  her. 

Later  she  had  taken  up  her  residence  with 
Mrs.  Michael  Fahey,  who  had  consented  to  add 
to  her  precarious  income  by  this  means,  and  at 
the  age  of  four  she  became  the  official  nurse  of 
Master  John  Sullivan  Fahey.  A  terribly  hot 
August,  unlimited  cold  tea,  and  a  habit  of  play 
ing  in  the  gutter  in  the  noon  glare  proved  too 
much  for  her  charge,  and  he  died  on  his  third 
birthday.  The  ride  to  the  funeral  was  the  most 
exciting  event  of  Ardelia's  life.  For  years  she 
dated  from  it.  Mrs.  Fahey  had  so  long  regarded 
her  as  one  of  the  family,  that  though  her  occupa 
tion  was  gone,  and  her  board  was  no  longer  paid, 
she  was  whipped  as  regularly  and  cursed  as  com 
prehensively,  in  her  foster-mother's  periodical 
sprees,  as  if  they  had  been  closely  related. 

What  time  she  could  spare  from  helping  Mrs. 
[  12-2  ] 


ARDELIA     IN     ARCADY 

Fahey  in  her  somewhat  casual  household  labor, 
and  running  errands  to  tell  that  lady's  perenni 
ally  hopeful  employers  that  her  mother  wasn't 
feeling  well  to-day,  but  would  it  do  if  she  came 
to-morrow,  Ardelia  spent  in  playing  up  and 
down  the  street  with  a  band  of  little  girls,  or,  in 
the  very  hottest  days,  sitting  drowsy  and  vindic 
tive  at  the  head  of  a  flight  of  stone  steps  that  led 
into  a  down-stairs  saloon.  The  damp,  flat,  beer- 
sweetened  air  that  rushed  out  as  the  men  pushed 
open  the  swing-doors  was  cool  and  refreshing  to 
her ;  she  was  in  a  position  to  observe  any  possi 
ble  customers  at  the  three  push-carts  in  her  line 
of  vision,  and  could  rouse  a  flagging  interest  in 
life  by  listening  to  any  one  of  the  altercations 
that  resounded  from  the  tenements  night  and 
day.  Drays  clattered  incessantly  over  the  pave 
ment,  peddlers  shouted,  sharp  gongs  punctuated 
the  steadier  din.  A  policeman  was  almost  always 
in  sight,  and  one  of  them,  Mr.  Halloran,  had 
more  than  once  given  her  a  penny  for  lemonade. 
In  the  room  above  her  head  an  Italian  band  prac 
tised  every  evening,  and  then  Ardelia  was  perfectly 
[  123  ] 


THE    MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

happy,  for  she  loved  music.  Often  before  the 
band  began,  a  hurdy-gurdy  would  station  itself 
at  the  corner,  and  Ardelia  and  the  other  little 
girls  would  dance  about,  singly  and  in  pairs, 
shouting  the  tunes  they  knew,  rejoicing  in  the 
comparative  coolness  and  the  generally  care- free 
atmosphere.  Ardelia  was  the  lightest-footed  of 
them  all ;  her  hands  held  her  skirts  out  almost 
gracefully,  her  thin  little  legs  flew  highest.  Some 
times  the  saloon-keeper  —  they  called  him  "  Old 
Dutchy "  —  would  nod  approval  as  Ardelia 
skipped  and  pranced,  and  beckon  her  to  him  mys 
teriously. 

"  You  trow  your  legs  goot,"  he  would  say. 
"  We  shall  see  you  already  dancing,  no  ?  Here 
is  an  olluf ;  eat  her." 

And  Ardelia,  who  loved  olives  to  distraction, 
would  nibble  off  small,  sour,  salty  mouthfuls  and 
suck  the  pit  luxuriously  while  she  listened  to  the 
Italian  band. 

Except  for  Mrs.  Fahey^s  errands,  which  never 
earned  her  far  off  the  street,  Ardelia  had  never 
left  it  in  her  life,  and  her  journey  to  the  Settle- 
[124] 


ARDELIA     IN     ARCADY 

ment-house  was  one  of  interest  to  her.  She  was 
a  silent  child,  but  for  occasional  fits  of  gabbling 
and  chattering  with  the  little  girls  in  the  street ; 
and  though  she  did  not  understand  why  the 
^oung  lady  from  the  Settlement  should  cry  when 
she  introduced  her  to  two  other  ladies,  nor  why 
so  many  messages  should  be  left  for  her  mother, 
and  so  many  local  and  general  baths  admin 
istered,  she  said  very  little.  She  was  not  accus 
tomed  to  question  fate,  and  when  it  sent  her  two 
fried  eggs  —  she  refused  to  eat  them  boiled  —  for 
her  breakfast,  she  quietly  placed  them  in  the 
credit  column  as  opposed  to  the  baths,  and  held 
her  peace. 

Later,  arrayed  in  starched  and  creaking  gar 
ments  which  had  been  made  for  a  slightly  smaller 
child,  she  was  transported  to  the  station,  and  for 
the  first  time  introduced  to  a  railroad  car.  She 
sat  stiffly  on  the  red  plush  seat  with  furtive  eyes 
and  sucked-in  lips,  while  the  young  lady  talked 
reassuringly  of  daisies  and  cows  and  green  grass. 
As  Ardelia  had  never  seen  any  of  these  things,  it 
is  hardly  surprising  that  she  was  somewhat  unen- 
[125] 


T  H  E     M  A  D  N  E  S  S     OF     PHILIP 

thusiastic  ;  but  the  young  lady  was  disappointed 
by  this  lack  of  ardor.  She  was  so  thoroughly 
convinced  of  the  essential  right  of  every  child  to 
a  healthy  country  life,  that  she  was  almost  dis 
posed  to  blame  Ardelia  for  not  sharing  her  emi 
nently  creditable  conviction. 

"  You  can  roll  in  the  daisies,  my  dear,  and 
pick  all  you  want  —  all ! "  she  urged  eagerly. 
But  no  answering  gleam  woke  in  Ardelia's  eyes. 

"Aw  right,""  she  answered  guardedly,  and 
stared  into  her  lap. 

"  Look  out,  dear,  and  see  the  fields  and  houses 
—  see  that  handsome  dog,  and  see  the  little 
pond ! " 

Ardelia  shot  a  quick  glance  at  the  blurring 
green  that  dizzied  her  as  it  rushed  by ;  the  train 
was  a  fast  express  making  up  for  lost  time. 
Then  with  a  scowl  she  resumed  the  contempla 
tion  of  her  starched  gingham  lap.  The  swel- 
teringly  hot  day,  and  the  rapid,  unaccustomed 
motion  combined  to  afflict  her  with  a  strange 
internal  anticipation  of  future  woe.  Once  last 
summer,  when  she  ate  the  liquid  dregs  of  the  ice- 
[126] 


A  R  D  E  L  I  A     IX      A  R  C  A  I)  Y 

cream  man's  great  tin,  and  fell  asleep  in  the  room 
where  her  mother  was  frying  onions,  she  had  ex 
perienced  this  same  foreboding,  and  the  climax  of 
that  dreadful  day  lingered  yet  in  her  memory. 
So  she  set  her  teeth  and  waited  with  stoical  resig 
nation  for  the  end,  while  the  young  lady  babbled 
of  green  fields,  and  wondered  why  the  child 
should  be  so  sullen.  Finally  she  laid  it  to  home 
sickness,  and  recovered  her  faith  in  human 
nature. 

At  last  they  stopped.  The  young  lady  seized 
her  hand,  and  led  her  through  the  narrow  aisle, 
down  the  steep  steps,  across  the  little  country- 
station  platform,  and  Ardelia  was  in  Arcady. 

A  bare-legged  boy  in  blue  overalls  and  a  wide 
straw  hat  then  drove  them  many  miles  along  a 
hot,  dusty  road,  that  wound  endlessly  through 
the  parched  country  fields.  To  the  young  lady's 
remark  that  they  needed  rain  sadly,  he  replied, 
"  Yep  ! "  and  held  his  peace  for  the  following 
hour.  Occasionally  they  passed  another  horse, 
but  for  the  most  part  the  only  sight  or  sound  of 
life  was  afforded  by  the  hens  clucking  angrily  as 
[12T] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

the  travelers  drove  them  from  their  dust  baths  in 
the  powdery  road.  Released  from  her  horror  of 
foreboding,  Ardelia  took  a  more  apparent  inter 
est  in  her  situation,  and  would  perhaps  have 
spoken  if  her  chaperone  had  opened  conversation ; 
but  the  young  lady  was  weary  of  such  efforts,  dis 
posed  to  a  headache  from  the  blinding  heat,  and 
altogether  inclined  to  silence.  At  last  they 
turned  into  a  driveway,  and  drew  up  before  a 
gray  wooden  house.  Ardelia,  cramped  with  sit 
ting  still,  for  she  had  not  altered  her  position 
since  she  was  placed  stiffly  on  the  seat  between 
her  fellow-passengers,  was  lifted  down  and  es 
corted  up  the  shingle -walk  to  the  porch.  A 
spare,  dark-eyed  woman  in  a  checked  apron  ad 
vanced  to  meet  them. 

"  Terrible  hot  to-day,  ain't  it  ? "  she  sighed. 
"  I'm  real  glad  to  see  you,  Miss  Forsythe.  Won't 
you  cool  off  a  little  before  you  go  on  ?  This  is 
the  little  girl,  I  s'pose.  I  guess  it's  pretty  cool  to 
what  she's  accustomed  to,  ain't  it,  Delia  ?  " 

"  No,  I  thank  you,  Mrs.  Slater,  I'll  go  right  on 
to  the  house.  Now,  Ardelia,  here  you  are  in  the 

[128] 


ARDELIA     IN     ARCADY 


country.  I'm  staying  with  my  friend  in  a  big 
white  house  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  farther  on. 
You  can't  see  it  from  here,  but  if  you  want  any 
thing  you  can  just  walk  over.  Day  after  to-mor 
row  is  the  picnic  I  told  you  about.  You'll  see 


me  then,  any 
right  out  in 
pick  all  the 
want.  Don't  be 
will  drive  you 

The  force  of 
Ardelia,  who 
driven  off  any 
but  she  gath 
was  expected 
to  the  thick, 
the  unmowed 
strode  downward  obediently,  turning  when  in  the 
exact  center  of  the  plot,  for  further  orders. 

"  Now  pick  them  !     Pick  the   daisies  !  "  cried 
Miss  Forsythe  excitedly.     "  I  want  to  see  .you." 

Ardelia  looked  blank. 

«  Huh  ? "  she  said. 

[129] 


•Huh?' 


way.  Now  run 
the  grass  and 
daisies  you 
afraid ;  no  one 
off  this  grass ! " 
this  was  lost  on 
had  never  been 
grass  whatever, 
ered  that  she 
to  walk  out  in- 
rank  growth  of 
side  yard,  and 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

"  Gather  them.  Get  a  bunch.  Oh,  you  poor 
child  !  Mrs.  Slater,  she  doesn't  know  how  ! " 
Miss  Forsythe  was  deeply  moved  and  illustrated 
by  picking  imaginary  daisies  on  the  porch.  Ar- 
delia's  quick  eyes  followed  her  gestures,  and  stoop 
ing,  she  scooped  the  heads  from  three  daisies  and 
started  back  with  them,  staring  distrustfully  into 
the  depths  of  the  thick  clinging  grass  as  she 
pushed  through  it.  Miss  Forsythe  gasped. 

"No,  no,  dear!  Pull  them  up!  Take  the 
stem,  too,"  she  explained.  "  Pick  the  whole 
flower  ! " 

Ardelia  bent  over  again,  tugged  at  a  thick- 
stemmed  clover,  brought  it  up  by  the  roots,  re 
covered  her  balance  with  difficulty,  and  assaulted 
a  neighboring  daisy.  On  this  she  cut  her  hands, 
and  sucking  oft'  the  blood  angrily,  she  grabbed  a 
handful  of  coarse  grass,  and  plowing  through  the 
tangled  mass  about  her  feet,  laid  the  spoils  awk 
wardly  on  the  young  lady's  lap. 

Miss  Forsythe  stared  at  the  dirty,  trailing 
roots  that  stained  her  linen  skirt  and  sighed. 

"  Thank  you,  dear,11  she  said  politely,  "  but  I 

[130] 


ARDELIA     IX     ARCADY 

meant  them  for  you.  I  meant  you  to  have  a 
bunch.  Don't  you  want  them  ?  " 

"  Naw !  "  said  Ardelia  decidedly,  nursing  her 
cut  hand  and  stepping  with  relief  on  the  smooth 
floor  of  the  porch. 

Miss  Forsythe's  eyes  brightened  suddenly. 

"  I  know  what  you  want,"  she  cried,  "  you're 
thirsty  !  Mrs.  Slater,  won't  you  get  us  some  of 
your  good,  creamy  milk  ?  Don't  you  want  a 
drink,  Ardelia  ?  " 

Ardelia  nodded.  She  felt  very  tired,  and  the 
glare  of  the  sun  seemed  reflected  from  everything 
into  her  dazed  eyes.  When  Mrs.  Slater  appeared 
with  the  foaming  yellow  glasses  she  wound  her 
nervous  little  hands  about  the  stem  of  the  goblet 
and  began  a  deep  draught.  She  did  not  like  it, 
it  was  hard  to  swallow,  and  instinct  warned  her 
not  to  go  on  with  it ;  but  all  the  thirst  of  a  long 
morning  —  Ardelia  was  used  to  drinking  frequent 
ly  —  urged  her  on,  and  its  icy  coldness  enabled  her 
to  finish  the  glass.  She  handed  it  back  with  a 
deep  sigh.  The  young  lady  clapped  her  hands. 

"  There  !  "  she  cried.     "  Now,  how  do  you  like 

[131] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

real  milk,  Ardelia  ?  I  declare,  you  look  like 
another  child  already  !  You  can  have  all  you 
want  every  day  —  why,  what's  the  matter  ?  " 

For  Ardelia  was  growing  ghastly  pale  before 
them  ;  her  eyes  turned  inward,  her  lips  tightened. 


"A  blinding  horror  surged  from 
her  toes  upward." 


A  blinding  horror  surged  from  her 
toes  upward,  and  the  memory  of  the 
liquid  ice-cream  and  the  frying 
onions  faded  before  the  awful  reality 
of  her  present  agony. 

Later,  as  she  lay  limp  and  white  on 
the  slippery  hair-cloth  sofa  in  Mrs.  Slater's  musty 
parlor,  she  heard  them  discussing  her  situation. 

"  There  was  a  lot  of  Fresh  Air  children  over 
at  Mis1  Simms's,"  her  hostess  explained,  "  and 
they  'most  all  of  'em  said  the  milk  was  too  strong 
—  did  you  ever  !  Two  or  three  of  'em  was  sick, 
like  this  one,  but  they  got  to  love  it  in  a  little 
while.  She  will,  too." 

[132] 


A  R  D  E  L  I  A     IN     A  R  C  A  D  Y 

Ardelia  shook  her  head  feebly.  She  had  learned 
her  lesson.  If  success,  as  we  are  told,  consists 
not  in  omitting  to  make  mistakes,  but  in  omit 
ting  to  make  the  same  one  twice,  Ardelia's  treat 
ment  of  the  milk  question  was  eminently  successful. 

After  a  while  Miss  Forsythe  went  away,  and  at 
her  urgent  suggestion  Ardelia  came  out  and  sat 
on  the  porch  under  the  shade  of  a  black  umbrella. 
She  sat  motionless,  staring  into  the  grass,  lost  in 
the  rapture  of  content  that  follows  such  a  crisis 
as  her  recent  misery,  forgetful  of  all  her  earthly 
woes  in  the  blessed  certainty  of  her  present  calm. 
In  a  few  minutes  she  was  asleep. 

When  she  awoke  she  was  in  a  strange  place. 
Outside  the  umbrella  all  was  dusk  and  shadow. 
Only  a  square  white  mist  filled  the  place  of  the 
barn,  the  tall  trees  loomed  vaguely  toward  the 
dark  sky,  the  stars  were  few.  As  she  gazed  in 
half- terror  about  her,  a  strange  jangling  came 
nearer  and  nearer,  and  a  great  animal  with  swing 
ing  sides,  panting  terribly,  ran  clumsily  by,  fol 
lowed  by  a  bare-legged  boy,  whose  thudding  feet 
sounded  loud  on  the  beaten  path.  Ardelia  shrank 
[133] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

against  the  wall   with  a  cry  that  brought  Mrs. 
Slater  to  her  side. 

"There,  there,  Delia,  it's  only  a  cow.  She  won't 
hurt  you.  She  gives  the  milk  —  "  Ardelia  shud 
dered — "  and  the  butter,  too.  Here's  some  bread 
and  butter  for  you.  We've  had  our  supper,  but  I 
thought  the  sleep  would  do  you  more  good." 

Still  shaken  by  the  shock  of  that  panting,  hairy 
beast,  Ardelia  put  out  her  hand  for  the  bread  and 
butter,  and  ate  it  greedily.  Then  she  stretched 
her  cramped  limbs  and  looked  over  the  umbrella. 
On  the  porch  sat  a  bearded  man  in  shirt-sleeves 
and  stocking  feet,  his  head  thrown  back  against 
his  chair,  his  mouth  open.  He  snored  audibly. 
Tipped  back  in  another  chair,  his  feet  raised  and 
pressed  against  one  of  the  supports  of  the  porch 
roof,  sat  a  younger  man.  He  was  not  asleep,  for 
he  was  smoking  a  pipe,  but  he  was  as  motionless 
as  the  other.  Curled  up  on  the  steps  was  the  boy 
who  had  brought  them  from  the  station.  Occa 
sionally  he  patted  a  mongrel  collie  beside  him, 
and  yawning,  stretched  himself,  but  he  did  not 
speak. 

[134] 


ARDELIA     IN     ARCADY 

"  That's  Mr.  Slater,"  said  the  woman  softly, 
"  and  the  young  man  is  my  oldest  son,  William. 
Henry  brought  you  up  with  the  team.  They're 
out  in  the  field  all  day,  and  they  get  pretty 
tired.  It  gets  nice  an1  cool  out  here  by  evenin', 
don't  it  ?  " 

She  leaned  back  and  rocked  silently  to  and  fro, 
and  Ardelia  waited  for  the  events  of  the  evening. 
There  were  none.  She  wondered  why  the  gas 
was  not  lit  in  all  that  shadowy  darkness,  why  the 
people  didn't  come  along.  She  felt  scared  and 
lonely.  Now  that  her  stomach  was  filled,  and 
her  nerves  refreshed  by  her  long  sleep,  she  was  in 
a  condition  to  realize  that  aside  from  all  bodily 
discomfort  she  was  sad  —  very  sad.  A  new,  un 
known  depression  weighed  her  down.  It  grew 
steadily,  something  was  happening,  something 
constant  and  mournful  —  what  ?  Suddenly  she 
knew.  It  was  a  steady,  recurrent  noise,  a  buzz 
ing,  monotonous  click.  Now  it  rose,  now  it  fell, 
accentuating  the  silence  dense  about  it. 

"  Zig-a-zig!     Zig-a-zig  I"  then  a  rest. 

"  Zig-a-zig !     Zig-a-zig-a-zig ! " 
[135] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

She  looked  restlessly  at  Mrs.  Slater.  "  Wha's 
'at  ?  "  she  said. 

"  That  ?  Oh,  those  are  katydids.  I  s'pose 
you  never  heard  'em,  that's  a  fact.  Kind  o'  cozy, 
I  think.  Don't  you  like  'em  ?  " 

"  Naw,"  said  Ardelia. 

Another  long  silence  intervened.  The  rock 
ing-chair  swayed  back  and  forth,  and  Mr.  Slater 
snored.  Little  bright  eyes  glowed  and  disap 
peared,  now  high,  now  low,  against  the  dark.  It 
will  never  be  known  whether  Ardelia  thought 
them  defective  gaslights  or  the  flashing,  changing 
electric  signs  that  add  color  to  the  night  adver 
tisements  of  her  native  city,  for  contrary  to  all 
fictional  precedent,  she  did  not  inquire  with  in 
terest  what  they  were.  She  did  not  care,  in  fact. 

After  half  an  hour  of  the  katydids  William 
spoke. 

"  Nick  Damon's  helpin'  in  the  south  lot  t'day," 
he  observed. 

"  Was  he  ?  "  asked  his  mother,  pausing  a  mo 
ment  in  her  rocking. 

"  Yep." 

[136] 


ARDELIA     IN     ARCADY 

Again  he  smoked,  and  the  monotonous  clamor 
was  uninterrupted. 

"  Zig-a-zig !     Zig-zig !     Zig-a-zig-a-zig ! " 

Slowly,  against  the  background  of  this  ma 
chine-like  clicking,  there  grew  other  counds, 
weird,  unhappy,  far  away. 

"  Wheep,  zvheep,  wheep !  " 

This  was  a  high,  thin  crying. 

"  Buroom !     Brrroom !  broom ! " 

This  was  low  and  resonant  and  solemn.  Ar- 
delia  scowled. 

"  Wha's  'at  ?  "  she  asked  again. 

"That's  the  frogs.  Bull-frogs  and  peepers. 
Never  heard  them,  either,  did  ye  ?  Well,  that's 
what  they  are." 

William  took  his  pipe  out  of  his  mouth. 

"  Come  here,  sissy,  'n  111  tell  y'  a  story,"  he 
said  lazily. 

Ardelia  obeyed,  and  glancing  timorously  at 
the  shadows,  slipped  around  to  his  side. 

"  Onc't  they  was  an  ol'  feller  comin1  long 
cross-lots,  late  at  night,  an'  he  come  to  a  pond, 
an1  he  kinder  stopped  up  an1  says  to  himself, 
f  13T1 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

'  Wonder  how  deep  th'  ol'  pond  is,  anyhow  ? ' 
He  was  just  a  leetle  —  well,  he'd  had  a  drop  too 
much,  y'  see " 

"  Had  a  what  ?  "  interrupted  Ardelia. 

"  He  was  sort  o'  rollin'  'round  —  he  didn't 
know  just  what  he  was  doin' r 

"  Oh !    Jagged !  "  said  Ardelia  comprehendingly. 

"  I  guess  so.  An'  he  heard  a  voice  singin'  out, 
'  Knee  deep !  Knee  deep !  Knee  deep ! ' ' 

William  gave  a  startling  imitation  of  the  peep 
ers  :  his  voice  was  a  high,  shrill  wail. 

"  <  Oh,  well,'  s'  he,  '  'f  it's  just  knee  deep  I'll 
wade  through,'  an'  he  starts  in. 

"  Just  then  he  hears  a  big  feller  singin'  out, 
'  Better  go  rrrround !  Better  go  t^rround !  better- 
goround ! ' ' 

William  rolled  out  a  vibrating  bass  note  that 
startled  the  bull-frogs  themselves. 

"  « Lord  ! '  says  he,  '  is  it  s'deep's  that  ?  Well, 
I'll  go  round,  then.'  'N'  off  he  starts  to  walk 
around. 

"  '  Knee  deep !  Knee  deep !  Knee  deep ! '  says 
the  peepers. 

[138] 


ARDELIA     IN     ARCADY 

"  An1  there  it  was.  Soon's  he'd  start  to  do 
one  thing,  they'd  tell  him  another.  Make  up 
his  mind  he  couldn't,  so  he  stands  there  still, 
they  do  say,  askin'  'em  every  night  which  he 
better  do." 

"  Stands  where  ? "  Ardelia  looked  fearfully 
behind  her. 

"  Oh,  I  d'know.      Out  in  that  swamp,  mebbe." 

Again  he  smoked,  and  the  younger  boy 
chuckled. 

Time  passed  by.  To  Ardelia  it  might  have 
been  minutes,  hours,  or  generations.  An  un 
speakable  boredom,  an  ennui  that  struck  to  the 
roots  of  her  soul,  possessed  her.  Her  muscles 
twitched  from  nervousness.  Her  feet  ached  and 
burned  in  the  stiff'  boots. 

Suddenly  Mr.  Slater  coughed  and  arose. 
"  Well,  guess  I'll  be  gettin'  to  bed,"  he  said. 
"  Come  on,  boys.  Hello,  little  girl !  Come  to 
visit  with  us,  hey  ?  Mind  you  don't  pick  poison 
vine." 

He  shuffled  into  the  house,  and  the  boys  fol 
lowed  him  in  silence.  Mrs.  Slater  led  Ardelia 
[139] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

upstairs  into  a  little  hot  room,  and  told  her  to  get 
into  bed  quick,  for  the  lamp  drew  the  mosqui 
toes. 

Ardelia  kicked  off  her  shoes  and  approached 
the  bed  distrustfully.  It  sank  down  with  her 
weight  and  smelled  hot  and  queer.  Rolling 
off,  she  stretched  herself  on  the  floor,  and  lay 
there  disconsolately.  Sharp,  quick  stabs  from  the 
swarming  mosquitoes  stung  her  to  rage  ;  she 
tossed  about,  slapping  at  them  with  exclamations 
that  would  have  shocked  Mrs.  Slater.  The  eter 
nal  chatter  of  the  katydids  maddened  her.  She 
could  not  sleep.  Across  the  swamp  came  the 
wail  of  the  peepers. 

"  Knee-deep !     Knee-deep !     Knee-deep  !  " 

At  home   the   hurdy-gurdy  was   playing,  the 

women   were  gossiping  on  every   step,  the  lights 

were  everywhere  —  the  blessed  fearless  gas-lights 

—  the  little  girls  were  dancing  in  the  breeze  that 

drew  in  from  the  East  River,  Old   Dutchy  was 

giving  Maggie  Kelly  an  olive  ;  —  Ardelia  slapped 

viciously  at  a  mosquito  on  her  hot  cheek,  heard  t\ 

great  June  bug  flopping  into  the  room  through 

[140J 


ARDELIA     IN     AECADY 

the  loosely  waving  netting,  and  burst  into  tears 
of  pain  and  fright,  wrapping  her  head  tightly  in 
her  gingham  skirt. 

In  the  morning  Miss  Forsythe  came  over  to 
inquire  after  her  charge's  health,  accompanied  by 
another  young  lady. 

"  How  do  you  do,  my  dear  ?  "  said  the  new  lady 
kindly.  "  How  terribly  the  mosquitoes  have 
stung  you  !  What  makes  you  stay  in  the  house, 
and  miss  the  beautiful  fresh  air  ?  See  that  great 
plot  of  daisies  —  does  she  know  that  she  can  pick 
all  she  wants,  poor  little  thing  ?  I  suppose  she 
never  had  a  chance  !  Come  out  with  me,  Ar- 
delia,  and  let's  see  which  can  pick  the  biggest 
bunch." 

And  Ardelia,  fortified  by  ham  and  eggs,  went 
stolidly  forth  into  the  grass  and  silently  attacked 
the  daisies. 

In  the  middle  of  her  bunch  the  new  young  lady 
paused.  "  Why,  Ethel,  she  isn't  barefoot !  "  she 
cried.  "  Come  here,  Ardelia,  and  take  off  your 
shoes  and  stockings  directly.  Shoes  and  stock 
ings  in  the  country  !  Nozv  you'll  know  what  com- 
f  Ul  1 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

fort  is,"  as  she  unlaced  the  boots  rapidly  on  the 
porch. 

"  Oh,  she^s  been  barefoot  in  the  city,"  explained 
Miss  Forsythe,  "  but  this  will  be  different,  of 
course." 

And  so  it  was,  but  not  in  the  sense  she  in 
tended.  To  patter  about  bare-legged  on  the 
clear,  safe  pavement,  was  one  thing ;  to  venture 
unprotected  into  that  waving,  tripping  tangle  was 
another.  She  stepped  cautiously  upon  the  short 
grass  near  the  house,  and  with  jaw  set  and  nar 
rowed  lids  felt  her  way  into  the  higher  growth. 
The  ladies  clapped  their  hands  at  her  happiness 
and  freedom.  Suddenly  she  stopped,  she  shrieked, 
she  clawed  the  air  with  outspread  fingers.  Her 
face  was  gray  with  terror. 

"  Oh,  gee !     Oh,  gee  !  "  she  screamed. 

"  What  is  it,  Ardelia,  what  is  it  ? "  they 
cried  lifting  up  their  skirts  in  sympathy,  "a 
snake  ?  " 

Mrs.  Slater  rushed  out,  seized  Ardelia,  half  rigid 
with  fear,  and  carried  her  to  the  porch.  They 
elicited  from  her  as  she  sat  with  her  feet  tucked 
[142] 


ARDELIA     IN     ARCADY 

under  her  and  one  hand  convulsively  clutching 
Mrs.  Slater's  apron  that  something  had  rustled  by 
her  "  down  at  the  bottom,"  that  it  was  slippery, 
that  she  had  stepped  on  it,  and  wanted  to  go 
home. 

"  Toad,"  explained  Mrs.  Slater  briefly.  "  Only 
a  little  hop-toad,  Delia,  that  wouldn't  harm  a 
baby,  let  alone  a  big  girl  nine  years  old,  like 
you." 

But  Ardelia,  chattering  with  nervousness,  wept 
for  her  shoes,  and  sat  high  and  dry  in  a  rocking- 
chair  for  the  rest  of  the  morning. 

"  She's  a  queer  child,"  Mrs.  Slater  confided  to 
the  young  ladies.  "  Not  a  drop  of  anything  will 
she  drink  but  cold  tea.  It  don't  seem  reasonable 
to  give  it  to  her  all  day,  and  I  won't  do  it,  so  she 
has  to  wait  till  meals.  She  makes  a  face  if  I  say 
milk,  and  the  water  tastes  slippery,  she  says,  and 
salty-like.  She  won't  touch  it.  I  tell  her  its 
good  well  water,  but  she  just  shakes  her  head. 
She's  stubborn's  a  bronze  mule,  that  child.  Just 
mopes  around.  'S  morning  she  asked  me  when 
did  the  parades  go  by.  I  told  her  there  wa'n't 
[143] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

any  but  the  circus,  an'  that  had  been  already.  I 
tried  to  cheer  her  up,  sort  of,  with  that  Fresh  Air 
picnic  of  yours  to-morrow,  Miss  Forsythe,  and 
s'she, '  Oh,  the  Dago  picnic,'  s'she,  *  will  they  have 
Tony's  band  ? ' 

"She  don't  seem  to  take  any  int'rest  in  th' 
farm,  like  those  Fresh  Air  children,  either.  I 
showed  her  the  hens  an'  the  eggs,  an'  she  said  it 
was  a  lie  about  the  hens  layin'  'em.  '  What  d'you 
take  me  for  ? '  s'she.  The  idea !  Then  Henry 
milked  the  cow,  to  show  her  —  she  wouldn't  be 
lieve  that,  either  —  and  with  the  milk  streamin' 
down  before  her,  what  do  you  s'pose  she  said  ? 
*  You  put  it  in ! '  s'she.  I  never  should  'a' 
believed  that,  Miss  Forsythe,  if  I  hadn't 
heard  it." 

"  Oh,  she'll  get  over  it,"  said  Miss  Forsythe 
easily,  "just  wait  a  few  days.  Good-by,  Ardelia, 
eat  a  good  supper." 

But  this  Ardelia  did  not  do.  She  gazed  fasci 
nated  at  Mr.  Slater,  who  loaded  his  fork  with  cold 
green  peas,  shot  them  into  his  mouth,  and  before 
disposing  of  them  ultimately  added  to  them  half 
[  U+l 


ARDELIA     IN     ARCADY 

a  slice  of  rye  bread  and  a  great  gulp  of  tea  in  one 
breath,  repeating  this  operation  at  regular  inter 
vals  in  voracious  silence.  She  regarded  William, 
who  consumed  eight  large  molasses  cookies  and 
three  glasses  of  frothy  milk,  as  a  mere  afterthought 
to  the  meal,  gulping  furiously.  He  never  spoke. 
Henry  she  dared  not  look  at,  for  he  burst  into 
laughter  whenever  she  did,  and  cried  out,  "  You 
put  it  in  !  You  put  it  in  ! "  which  irritated  her 
exceedingly.  But  she  knew  that  he  was  biting 
great  round  bites  out  of  countless  slices  of  but 
tered  bread,  and  in  utter  silence.  Now  Ardelia 
had  never  in  her  life  eaten  in  silence.  Mrs.  Fa- 
hey,  when  eating,  gossiped  and  fought  alternately 
with  Mr.  Fahey's  old,  half-blind  mother ;  her  son 
Danny,  in  a  state  of  chronic  dismissal  from  his 
various  "jobs,"  sang,  whistled  and  performed 
clog  dances  under  the  table  during  the  meal ; 
their  neighbor  across  the  narrow  hall  shrieked  her 
comments,  friendly  or  otherwise ;  and  all  around 
and  above  and  below  resounded  the  busy  noise  of 
the  crowded,  clattering  city  street.  It  was  the 
breath  in  her  nostrils,  the  excitement  of  her  ner« 


THE      MADNESS      OF      PHILIP 

vous  little  life,  and  this  cold-blooded  stoking  took 
away  her  appetite,  never  large. 

Through  the  open  door  the  buzz  of  the  katy 
dids  was  beginning  tentatively.  In  the  intervals 
of  William's  gulps  a  faint  bass  note  warned  them 
from  the  swamp  : 

"  Better  go  rrround  !     Better  go  round ! "" 

Mrs.  Slater  filled  their  plates  in  silence.  Henry 
slapped  a  mosquito  and  chuckled  interiorly  at 
some  reminiscence.  A  cow-bell  jangled  sadly  out 
of  the  gathering  dusk. 

Ardelia's  nerves  strained  and  snapped.  Her 
eyes  grew  wild. 

"  Fer  Gawd's  sake,  talk ! "  she  cried  sharply. 
"  Are  youse  dumbies  ?  " 

r 

The  morning  dawned  fresh  and  fair ;  the  trees 
and  the  brown  turf  smelled  sweet,  the  homely 
barnyard  noises  brought  a  smile  to  Miss  For 
syte's  sympathetic  face,  as  she  waited  for  Ardelia 
to  join  her  in  a  drive  to  the  station.  But  Ardelia 
did  not  smile.  Her  eyes  ached  with  the  great 
green  glare,  the  strange  scattered  objects,  the  lono; 
[146] 


ARDELIA     IN     ARCADY 

unaccustomed  vistas.  Her  cramped  feet  wearied 
for  the  smooth  pavements,  her  ears  hungered  for 
the  dear  familiar  din.  She  scowled  at  the  wind 
ing,  empty  road ;  she  shrieked  at  the  passing 
oxen. 

At  the  station  Miss  Forsythe  shook  her  limp 
little  hand. 

"  Good-by,  dear,"  she  said.  "  I'll  bring  the 
other  little  children  back  with  me.  You'll  enjoy 
that.  Good-by." 

"  I'm  comin',  too,"  said  Ardelia. 

"Why  —  no,  dear — -you  wait  for  us.  You'd 
only  turn  around  and  come  right  back,  you 
know,"  urged  Miss  Forsythe,  secretly  touched  by 
this  devotion  to  herself. 

"  Come  back  nothing"  said  Ardelia  doggedly. 
"  I'm  goin'  home." 

"  Why  —  why,  Ardelia  !  Don't  you  really  like 
it  ?  " 

"  Naw,  it's  too  hot." 

Miss  Forsythe  stared. 

"  But  Ardelia,  you  don't  want  to  go  back  to 
that  horrible  .smelly  street  ?  Not  truly  ?  " 


THE      MADNESS      OF      PHILIP 

"  Betcher  life  I  do  !  "  said  Ardelia. 

The  train  steamed  in  ;  Miss  Forsythe  mounted 
the  steps  uneasily,  Ardelia  clinging  to  her  hand. 

"It's  so  lovely  and  quiet,"  the  young  lady 
pleaded. 

Ardelia  shuddered.  Again  she  seemed  to  hear 
that  fiendish,  mournful  wailing : 

"  Knee  deep !     Knee  deep !     Knee  deep !  " 

"  It  smells  so  good,  Ardelia  !  All  the  green 
things ! " 

Good !  that  hot,  rustling  breeze  of  noonday, 
that  damp  and  empty  evening  wind  ! 

They  rode  in  silence.  But  the  jar  and  jolt  of 
the  engine  made  music  in  Ardelia's  ears ;  the 
crying  of  the  hot  babies,  the  familiar  jargon  of 
the  newsboy  : 

"  N'Yawk  moyning  paypers  !     Woyld  !     Joy 
nal  ! "   were  a   breath   from    home    to   her   little 
cockney  heart. 

They  pushed  through  the  great  station,  they 
climbed  the  steps  of  the  elevated  track,  they  jin 
gled  on  a  cross-town  car.      And  at  a  familiar  cor 
ner    Ardelia    slipped    loose  her   hand,  uttered   a 
[148] 


ARDELIA     IN     ARCADY 

grunt  of  joy,  and  Miss  Forsythe  looked  for  her  in 
vain.  She  was  gone. 

But  late  in  the  evening,  when  the  great  city 
turned  out  to  breathe,  and  sat  with  opened  shirt 
and  loosened  bodice  on  the  dirty  steps ;  when  the 
hurdy-gurdy  executed  brassy  scales  and  the  lights 
flared  in  endless  sparkling  rows ;  when  the  trolley 
gongs  at  the  corner  pierced  the  air,  and  feet 
tapped  cheerfully  down  the  cool  stone  steps  of 
the  beer-shop,  Ardelia,  bare-footed  and  aban 
doned,  nibbling  at  a  section  of  bologna  sausage, 
secure  in  the  hope  of  an  olive  to  come,  cake- 
walked  insolently  with  a  band  of  little  girls  be 
hind  a  severe  policeman,  mocking  his  stolid  gait, 
to  the  delight  of  Old  Dutchy,  who  beamed  ap 
provingly  at  her  prancings. 

"  Ja,  ja,  you  trow  out  your  feet  goot.  Some 
day  we  pay  to  see  you,  no  ?  You  like  to  get 
back  already  ?  " 

Ardelia  performed  an  audacious  pas  seul  and 
reached  for  her  olive. 

"  Ja,  danky  shun,  Dutchy,"  she  said  airily,  and 
as  the  hurdy-gurdy  moved  away,  and  the  oboe  of 
[M9J 


THE     MADNESS      OF      PHILIP 

the  Italian  band  began  to  run  up  and  down  the 
scale,  she  sank  upon  her  cool  step,  stretched  her 
toes  and  sighed. 

"  Gee  !  "    she     murmured,     "  N'Yawk^s     the 
place  !  " 


EDGAR,   THE   CHOIR   BOY    UNCELES- 
TIAL 

YOU  all  know  how  they  look  in  the  pict 
ures  —  enlarged  photogravures,  mostly  : 
they    have    appealing    violet    eyes    and 
drooping  mouths  and  oval  faces.     They  tip  their 
heads  back  and  to  the  side,  and  there  is  usually  a 
broad  beam  of  light  falling  across  their  little  offi 
cial  nighties.     People  frame  them  in  Flemish  oak 
and  hang  them  over  the  piano,  and  little  girls 
long  to  resemble  them. 

But  Edgar  was  not  that  kind.  So  greatly  did 
he  differ,  in  fact,  that  even  the  choirmaster,  who 
ought  to  have  known  better,  was  deceived,  and 
discovered  him  with  difficulty.  When  that  gen 
tleman  confronted  them  in  the  parish  house,  a 
mob  of  suspicious  little  boys,  shoving,  growling, 
snickering,  and  otherwise  fulfilling  their  natures, 
he  promptly  selected  Tim  Mullaly,  who  possessed 
to  an  ama/ing  degree  the  violet  eyes  and  the 
[  1531 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

drooping  mouth  and  the  oval  face,  as  his  first 
soprano.  The  choirmaster  was  young  in  years 
and  his  profession. 

But  Tim  refused  to  sing  the  scale  alone,  and  as 
the  others  scorned  to  accompany  him  in  this  ex- 


"  But  Tim  refused  to  sing  the  scale  alone." 

ercise,  Mr.  Fellowes,  determinedly  patient,  sug 
gested  in  the  hilarious  "  come-on-boys  !  "  fashion 
consecrated  to  childhood  by  adults,  that  they 
should  all  join  in  some  popular  melody,  to  limber 
them  up  and  dispel  their  uneasiness. 
[154] 


EDGAR,  THE  CHOIR  BOY  UN  CELESTIAL 

"  What  shall  we  sing  ?  "  he  called  out  breezily, 
from  the  piano-stool,  faintly  indicating  a  "  rag 
time"  rhythm  with  his  left  hand,  still  facing 
them  as  he  searched  the  forbidding  countenances 
before  him  for  a  gleam  of  friendship. 

After  all,  they  were  human  boys,  and  they 
could  all  sing  after  a  fashion,  or  they  would  not 
have  been  induced  by  relatives  who  had  read  the 
qualifications  for  choir  membership  to  attend  this 
trying  function. 

"  '  Hot  time  ! ' "  burst  from  one  of  the  young 
sters. 

"  All  right ! "  and  the  inviting  melody  drew 
them  in  ;  soon  they  were  shouting  lustily.  Rau 
cous  altos,  nasal  sopranos,  fatal  attempts  to  com 
pass  a  bass  —  at  any  rate,  they  were  started. 
The  verse  was  over,  the  chorus  had  begun,  when 
a  sudden  sound  sent  the  choirmaster's  heart  to  his 
throat,  his  hands  left  the  keys.  Into  the  medley 
of  coarse,  boyish  shouting  dropped  a  silvery 
thread  of  purest  song,  a  very  bird-note.  For  a 
moment  it  flowed  on  the  level  of  the  chorus,  then 
suddenly,  with  an  indescribable  leap,  a  slurring 
[  155] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

rush,  it  rose  to  an  octave  above  and  led  them  all. 
The  choirmaster  twirled  around  on  the  stool. 

"  Who's  that  ?  Which  boy  is  singing  up 
there  ?  "  he  demanded  excitedly.  There  was  no 
reply.  They  grinned  consciously  at  each  other ; 
one  could  imagine  them  all  guilty. 

"  Come,  come,  boys  !  Don't  be  silly  —  who 
was  it  ?  " 

Silence,  of  the  most  sepulchral  sort.  Mr.  Fel- 
lowes  shrugged  his  shoulders,  swung  round  again, 
and  started  the  second  verse.  They  dashed 
through  it  noisily ;  he  picked  out  here  and  there 
a  sweet  little  treble,  one  real  alto.  But  his  ears 
were  pricked  for  something  better,  and  presently 
it  came.  The  rhythm  was  too  enticing. 

"Please,  oh,  please,  oh,  don't  you  let  me  fall " 

"  By  George,  he's  a  human  blackbird  !  " 
"  You  re  all  mine,  an  I  love  you  best  of  all " 

"  That's  high  C  !  " 

"  An  you  mus'  be  my  man,  V  Fll  have  no  man  at  all " 

The  choirmaster  burst  into  a  joyous  if  some 
what  reedy  tenor. 

44  There'll  be  a  hot  time  in  the  old  toivn  to-niyht!" 
[156] 


EDGAR,      T  H  K      CHOIR      BOY      U  N  C  E  L  E  S  T  I  A  L 

He  whirled  about,  still  singing,  and  caught  the 
ecstatic,  dreamy  gaze  of  Tim  Mullaly. 

"  It's  you  !"  he  cried,  pouncing  on  him.  Tim 
giggled  feebly. 

"  Yessir,"  he  said. 

"Now  sing  this  scale,and  Til  give  you  five  cents." 

An  envious  sigh  quavered  through  the  parish 
hall. 

Tim  threw  back  his  head  and  opened  his  droop 
ing  mouth. 

"  Do,  re " 

There  was  a  flash  of  blue  gingham,  a  snarl  of 
rage,  a  sound  as  of  fifty  pounds  of  small  boy  sud 
denly  seated  on  the  floor. 

"  Where's  yer  fi'  cents  ?  "  a  new  voice  inquired 
easily. 

The  choirmaster  perceived  with  amazement 
that  the  owner  of  the  voice,  a  freckled  boy  with 
an  excessively  retrousse  nose,  was  sitting  on  the 
prostrate  Tim. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?     Get  up  !  "  he 
said  sternly.     "  What's  your  name  ?     I  can't  have 
any  of  this  sort  of  thing  in  my  choir  !  " 
[157] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

The  freckled  boy  did  not  rise.  In  fact,  he 
seated  himself  more  comfortably  on  Master  Mul- 
laly,  and  demanded  again  : 

"  Where's  yer  fT  cents  ?  " 

The  choirmaster  stepped  forward  and  seized  the 
offender's  collar.  As  his  fingers  tightened,  the 


"  '  Where  s  yer  fi'  cents  ?  ' 

captive  burst  into  the  chorus  of  the  moment  be 
fore  —  it  was  the  blackbird  voice  !  So  obstinate 
was  the  choirmaster's  first  impression  that  he 
looked  instinctively  at  the  fallen  Tim  to  catch 
the  notes,  but  Tim  was  struggling  meekly  but 
firmly  for  breath,  and  this  free  trilling  came  from 
above  him.  The  choirmaster  relaxed  his  hold. 
[158] 


EDGAR,      THE      CHOIR      BOY      UN  CELESTIAL 

"  It  was  you  all  the  time  ! 11  he  said  in  a  stupor 
of  surprise. 

"  Yep,11  replied  the  singer,  "  it  was  me.  Did 
yer  think  it  was  him?""  with  a  slight  jounce  to 
indicate  his  victim. 

"  Get  up,  won't  you,  and  sing  me  something 
else,11  the  choirmaster  urged.  The  boy  rose 
promptly. 

"  What1!!  I  sing  ? "  he  returned  amicably. 
There  had  been  a  different  tone  in  the  choir 
master's  voice. 

"  Happy  Home  !  Happy  Home  !  "  the  crowd 
demanded.  They  had  stood  to  one  side  in  the 
most  neutral  manner  during  the  brief  struggle 
that  had  laid  Tim  low,  and  listened  respectfully 
to  the  brief  colloquy  that  followed.  It  was  evi 
dent  that  past  experience  had  suggested  this 
attitude  on  their  part. 

The  choirmaster  looked  relieved.  He  had  no 
narrow  prejudices,  but  he  realized  that  a  hymn 
like  "  My  Happy  Home  "  comes  with  good  effect 
from  the  parish-hall  windows. 

"  Where's  your  mouth  organ  ? "  demanded  the 
f  1591 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 


•mi 


"  '  I'd  leave  my 
yappy  yome 
fer  you,  Oo- 
oo-oo-oo!'  " 


freckled  one  of  a  larger  boy  in  the 
crowd.  The  latter  promptly  pro 
duced  the  instrument  in  question, 
cuddled  it  in  both  hands  a  moment 
after  the  fashion  of  the  virtuoso, 
and  drew  forth  the  jerky  and  com 
plex  series  of  strains  peculiar  to  it. 
It  was  evidently  a  prelude  —  a 
tune  vaguely  familiar  to  the  choir 
master.  Suddenly  the  boy's  voice 
burst  into  this  sombre  background: 

"I'd  leave  my  yappy  yome  fer  you, 
Oo-oo-oo-oo  t " 


The  choirmaster  sighed  ecstatic 
ally.  A  voice  so  tender,  so  soft,  so  rich  in  ap 
pealing  inflections  he  had  never  heard.  The  re 
peated  vowels  cooed,  they  caressed,  they  allured. 

"  You're  the  nices'  man  n'  I  ever  knoo, 
Oo-oo-oo-oo  !  " 

If  you  remember  how  Madame  Melba  cooes, 
"  Edgardo  !     Edgardo-o-o  ! "  when  she  sings  the 
mad  scene  from  "  Lucia,"  you  will  have  an  idea 
[160] 


EDGAR,  THE   CHOIR  BOY  UN  CELESTIAL 

of  the  liquid,  slipping  notes  of  that  snub-nosed, 
freckled  boy. 

"  What's  your  name  ? "  asked  the  choirmaster 
respectfully. 

It  appeared  at  first  to  be  Egg-nog,  but  re 
solved  into  Edgar  Ogden  under  careful  cross-ex 
amination,  and  its  owner  agreed  to  attend  three 
weekly  rehearsals  and  two  Sunday  services  for  the 
princely  salary  of  twenty-five  cents  a  week,  the 
same  to  be  increased  in  proportion  to  his  prog 
ress. 

Subsequent  efforts  proved  that  it  was  utter 
ly  hopeless  to  attempt  to  teach  him  to  read 
music.  When  Tim  Mullaly  and  the  stupidest 
alto  in  the  United  States  —  as  the  choirmaster  as 
sured  him  —  could  stumble  through  what  was  con 
siderately  known  as  a  duet  at  sight,  and  that  was 
the  work  of  many  months,  Edgar  was  still  learn 
ing  his  solos  by  ear.  It  was  wasted  effort  to  in 
sist,  and  the  choirmaster  spent  long  hours  and 
nearly  wore  his  forefinger  to  the  bone,  fixing  in 
his  pupil's  mind  the  succession  of  notes  in  anthems 
and  Te  Deums,  Once  learned,  however,  he  never 

[161] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 


"As  a  matter  of  fact,  they  looked,  most  of  them,  at  Tim." 

forgot  them,  and  Mr.  Fellowes  thrilled  with  pride 
as  the  silver  stream  of  his  voice  flowed  higher, 
higher,  above  the  organ,  beyond  the  choir  at  his 
side,  till  the  people  in  the  church  sighed  and 
craned  their  necks  to  look  at  the  wonderful  boy. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  they  looked,  most  of  them, 
at  Tim  Mullaly,  who,  fresh  from  his  Saturday 
bath,  in  his  little  cassock  and  cotta,  realized  the 
dreams  of  the  most  exigent  lithographer.  He 
stood  next  to  Edgar,  and  owing  to  a  certain  weak 
ness  of  mind  invariably  followed  wi  th  his  lips  the 
entire  libretto,  so  to  speak,  of  the  work  in  hand. 
As  his  appealing  expression  and  violet  eyes  were 
undetachable,  he  had  all  the  effect  of  the  soloist, 
and  received  most  of  the  credit  from  that  vast 
majority  who  fail  to  distinguish  one  little  boy, 

like  one  Chinaman,  from  another,  unless  he  pos- 
[162] 


EDGAR,  THE   CHOIR  BOY  UNCELESTIAL 

sesses  some  such  salient  feature  as  Tim's  pleading 
gaze. 

This  little  apprehension  was  mercifully  unsus 
pected  by  Edgar,  otherwise  it  is  to  be  feared  that 
the  services  of  a  physician  would  have  been  re 
quired  in  the  Mullaly  household.  Not  that  Edgar 
had  any  professional  pride  in  his  voice.  He  pos 
sessed,  according  to  his  own  ideas,  many  more  val 
uable  and  decorative  qualities.  His  power  of  song 
was  entirely  hereditary,  and  came  to  him  from  his 
father,  who  was  of  English  descent.  The  elder  Mr. 
Ogden,  whom  rumor  reported  to  run  frequent  risks 
of  being  bitten  like  a  serpent  and  stung  like  an 
adder  at  the  last,  had  mounted  to  a  dizzy  height  in 
the  Knights  of  Pythias  entirely  through  his  voice, 
a  sweet  and  powerful  tenor,  and  was  accustomed 
to  spend  the  greater  part  of  his  time  in  commit 
ting  to  memory  and  practising  dramatic  songs  of  a 
highly  moral  variety  with  choruses  on  this  order : 

"  '  You  lie  !    I  saw  you  steal  that  ace  t ' 
A  crashing  How  right  in  the  face  — 
A  pistol  shot  and  deattis  disgrace 
Was  in  that  pack  of  cards  !  " 
[163] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

At  the  proper  point,  a  friend  in  another  room 
would  shoot  off  a  blank  cartridge  to  a  stormy 
accompaniment  on  the  Pythian  piano,  and  the 
Knights  would  become  so  appreciative  that  the 
soloist,  to  borrow  a  classical  phrase,  rarely  got 
home  until  morning.  What  time  Mr.  Ogden 
found  himself  able  to  spare  from  getting  up  his 
repertoire  was  judiciously  employed  in  borrowing 
money  for  the  purchase  of  new  articles  of  regalia, 
for  with  the  Pythians  to  rise  was  to  shine. 

His  elder  son  Samuel,  familiarly  known  as 
Squealer,  inherited  both  his  father's  tendencies, 
and  was  in  great  demand  among  the  saloons  and 
pool-rooms,  where  he  sang  ballads  of  a  tender 
and  moral  nature,  dealing  mostly  with  the  Home, 
and  the  sanctity  of  the  family  relation  in  general. 
One  of  these  in  especial,  in  which  Squealer  as 
sumed  a  hortatory  attitude  and  besought  an  im 
aginary  parent  to  "  take  her  back,  Dad,"  adding 
in  a  melting  baritone, 

"  She's  my  mother  and  your  wife  !  " 

so   affected    a    certain    bar-room   habitue,    whose 

habit  of  chasing  his  family  through  the  tenement 

[164] 


EDGAR,     THE      CHOIR     BOY     UNCELESTIAL 

with  a  carving-knife  had  led  them  to  move  out  oi 
town,  that  he  had  been  known  to  lay  his  head  on 
the  bar  and  weep  audibly. 

It  was  a  moot  point  among  his  friends  as  to 
which  was  Squealer's  real  chef  (Tceuvre,  the  song 
just  mentioned  or  another  which  ran, 

"  Y oil  II  only  have  one  mother,  boy, 
You  can't  treat  her  too  well !  " 

Very  often  after  singing  this  Squealer  would 
become  too  affected  to  endure  the  thought  of 
what  the  song  described  as  "  the  old  home, 
empty  now,"  and  would  repair  to  some  scene 
which  drew  less  heavily  on  the  emotions,  thus 
assuring  a  sleepless  if  wrathful  night  to  Mrs.  Og- 
den,  and  fluent  altercation  on  his  return  to  the 
old  home. 

Mrs.  Ogden  was  not  musical  herself,  and  de 
voted  most  of  her  energies  to  fine  laundry  work, 
a  less  emotional  but  more  lucrative  occupation. 
Edgar's  professional  duties  interested  her  chiefly 
by  reason  of  the  weekly  salary,  now  grown  to 
fifty  cents,  of  which  one-tenth  was  allowed  him 
for  his  private  purse,  the  remainder  being  applied 

[165] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

to  the  very  obvious  necessities  of  the  household. 
His  consequent  position  as  wage -earner  was 
firmly  established,  and  his  mother,  though  she 
cherished  a  natural  contempt  for  the  mental  cali 
bre  of  any  young  man  who  considered  Edgar's 


"  Shiny  storm  rubbers  were  urged  upon 
the  artist's  reluctant  feet." 


voice  worth  fifty  cents  a  week,  saw  to  it  that  so 
remunerative  an  organ  received  all  the  considera 
tion  it  deserved. 

To  Mr.  Ogden's  undisguised  horror,  two  new 
suits  of  under  flannels  were  purchased  at  the  be- 
[166] 


EDGAR,  THE  CHOIR  BOY  UNCELESTIAL 


ginning  of  the  winter,  and  shiny  storm  rubbers 
were  urged  upon  the  artist's  reluctant  feet  on 
every  slushy  day.  The  most  unconvincing  cough 
was  rewarded  with  black  licorice,  purchased  from 
the  general  household  fund,  and  when  Edgar  had 


She  was  not  in  the 
habit  of  applying 
her  disciplinary 
measures  to  the 
throat." 


the  measles,  the  Prince  of  Wales,  to  use  Mr.  Og- 
den's  irritated  phrase,  might  have  been  glad  to 
taste  the  mutton  broth  and  cocoa  that  fattened 
that  impident  kid. 

Nor  was  her  system  limited  to  this  soft  indul- 

[167] 


gence,  as  the  occasion  of  one  of  the  choirmaster's 
visits  proved.  Fearful  lest  the  purpose  of  his 
call  should  become  evident  too  abruptly,  he  be 
gan  by  one  of  his  customary  eulogies  of  his  first 
soprano's  voice.  She  received  his  enthusiasm 
coldly,  indicated  forcibly  her  own  lack  of  musical 
ability,  and  boasted,  with  a  pride  inexplicable  to 
one  who  has  not  been  accustomed  to  consider 
this  gift  synonymous  with  penitentiary  qualifica 
tions,  that  she  could  not  carry  a  tune.  On  his 
mentioning  somewhat  diffidently  that  Edgar's 
fines  for  tardiness,  absence,  etc.,  must  in  the  nat 
ure  of  things  make  appreciable  inroads  upon  his 
salary,  the  interview  assumed  a  different  aspect. 

Wiping  her  hands  on  her  apron,  Mrs.  Ogden 
assured  the  choirmaster  that  if  Edgar  wasn't 
earning  his  wages  she'd  attend  to  that  part  of  it, 
all  right.  So  intent  was  her  expression  that  he 
felt  obliged  to  put  in  a  plea  for  gentleness,  on 
the  ground  that  such  a  delicate  mechanism  as 
the  human  throat  could  not  be  too  carefully 
treated.  Mrs.  Ogden  assured  him  that  she  was 
not  in  the  habit  of  applying  her  disciplinary 
[168] 


EDGAR,     THE      C  H  O  I  II     BOY     U  N  C  E  L  E  S  T  I  A  L 


measures  to  the  throat,  and 
the  audience  was  at  an  end. 
The  day  happened  to  be  Sat 
urday,  and  at  the  evening  re 
hearsal  it  seemed  to  the  choir 
master  that  things  had  never 
gone  so  smoothly.  After  all, 
he  thought,  it  needed  a  mother 
to  reason  with  the  boys  —  he 
had  made  several  calls  of  the 
same  nature  that  week  —  a 
mother  knew  best  how  to  in 
fluence  them.  And  he  was 
abundantly  justified  in  his 
conclusions. 

On  Sunday  afternoon  Edgar 
marched  into  the  church,  im- 


'  A.  mild  and  stolid 
youth." 


passive  and  uninteresting  to  the  outward  vision, 
with  Tim  beside  him,  rapt  and  effective.  Edgar 
stared  vacantly  into  space,  his  feet  marked  the 
time  at  the  proper  distance  from  the  crucifer,  a 
mild  and  stolid  youth,  who  could  never  under 
stand  why  it  was  that  just  as  he  turned  the  corner 
[169] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

and  began  to  climb  the  steps  to  the  choir-stalls 
his  cassock  should  suddenly  tighten  below  the 
knees  and  almost  throw  him.  Edgar's  partner 
in  the  column  could  have  informed  him,  but  pru 
dence  rendered  him  uncommunicative. 

"  The  ln-ightest  hopes  we  cherish  here, 
How  fast  they  tire  and  faint  I  " 

Edgar's  brows  met,  he  took  a  longer  stride  in 
reaching  for  his  B  flat,  and  the  crucifer  grasped 
his  pole  nervously  and  broke  step  a  moment  —  his 
cassock  had  caught  again. 

"  How  many  a  spot  defiles  the  robe 
That  wraps  an  earthly  saint !  " 

"He  sings  like  an  angel,"  the  rector  mused. 
"  How  clumsy  that  Waters  boy  is  ! " 

Once  through  with  the  Psalter,  which  he 
loathed  because  he  was  not  always  certain  of  his 
pointing,  and  could  not  endure  Tim's  look  of  hor 
ror  at  his  occasional  slips,  Edgar,  having  hunched 
his  shoulders  at  just  the  angle  to  prevent  the 
tenor  behind  him  from  looking  across  into  the 
transept,  and  ostentatiously  opened  his  service  at 
[170] 


EDGAR,  THE   CHOIR  BOY  UNCELESTIAL 

the  Nunc  dimittis,  so  that  Tim  might  by  his 
innocent  nudging  and  indications  of  his  own 
Magnificat  page  call  a  frown  and  a  fine  from  the 
choirmaster,  devoted  himself  to  a  study  of  the 
rose-window  over  the  transept. 

The  decoration  of  this  window  was  a  standing 
subject  of  quarrel  between  him  and  the  first  alto, 
Howard  Potter.  Edgar  had  advanced  the  some 
what  untenable  proposition  that  the  various  fig 
ures  in  the  stained-glass  windows  represented  the 
successive  rectors  and  choirmasters  of  St.  Mark's. 
Howard  had  objected  that  the  dedications  under 
the  windows  referred  (as  he  had  discovered  by 
adroit  questions  that  gave  his  informants  no 
idea  whatever  of  what  he  was  driving  at)  to  per 
sons  who  had  never  held  office  of  any  kind  in  the 
church. 

Edgar  had  then  fallen  back  on  the  theory  that 
the  figures  were  portraits  of  the  persons  whom  the 
windows  commemorated.  Howard  triumphantly 
queried  why,  then,  should  the  legend,  "  Sacred  to 
the  memory  of  Walter,  beloved  husband  of  Mary 
Bird  Ferris,"  appear  under  a  tall  woman  in  dark 
[171] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

green  glass  with  a  most  feminine  amount  of  hair 
and  a  long  red  sash  ?  Edgar  was  staggered,  but 
suddenly  recalled  his  father's  glowing  account  of 
a  costume  ball  given  by  the  Knights  of  Pythias, 
in  which  many  of  the  Knights  appeared  in  wom 
en's  clothes,  one  in  particular,  the  proprietor  of  a 
fish  market,  having  rented  a  long  and  flowing  wig 
the  better  to  deceive  his  fellow-Knights  and  their 
delighted  guests.  This  had  impressed  Edgar  as 
intensely  humorous  ;  he  greatly  enjoyed  picturing 
the  scene  to  his  imagination,  and  he  strengthened 
his  wavering  infallibility  by  declaring  that  the 
beloved  husband  of  Mary  Bird  Ferris  was  beyond 
doubt  a  Pythian  in  costume. 

This  had  silenced  Howard  for  a  week,  but  one 
afternoon  at  evensong,  just  before  the  electric  bell 
sounded  in  the  robing-room  to  summon  them  to 
the  hall,  he  had  rapidly  inquired  in  a  hissing 
whisper,  "  Who  that  white  puppy  carry  in'  the 
flag  in  the  round  window  on  the  side,  where  the 
bird  was,  was  a  picture  of  ?  " 

The  bird  was  the  lee  tern -eagle,  and  neither  of 
the  antagonists  had  ever  seen  a  lamb.  Edgar 
I  172  1 


EDGAR,  THE  CHOIR  BOY  UN  CELESTIAL 


had  recognized  the  fact  that  it  was  a  poorly  drawn 
puppy,  and  he  did  not  believe  that  it  could  pos 
sibly  have  balanced  in  one  crooked-up  knee  and 
at  that  perilous  angle  any  such  banner  as  the  ar 
tist  had  given  it.  It  was  also  crushingly  apparent 
to  him  that  no  Knight  of  Pythias,  with  all  the 


"  '  Who  that  white  puppy 
carryin   the  faff  .   .   .  was.1" 


assistance  in  the  world,  could  transform  himself 
into  such  a  woolly,  curly,  four- legged  object  as 
that. 

Then  why  should  the  brass  plate  beneath  it  de 
clare  that  this  rose-window  was  placed  in  "  loving 
memory  of  Alice  Helen  Worden,  who  departed 
this  life  June  nineteenth,  eighteen  hundred  and 
ninety  "  ?  That  was  no  name  for  a  puppy,  to 
[1731 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

begin  with.  The  whole  affair  irritated  Edgar 
exceedingly.  He  saw  no  explanation  whatever. 
He  perceived  that  he  should  have  to  fight  the 
first  alto.  This  was  not  only  a  great  responsibility 
in  itself,  but  the  necessity  of  evading  the  parental 
eye  added  to  the  nervous  strain,  and  the  conscious 
ness  that  on  this  particular  Sunday  afternoon  Mr. 
Ogden  occupied  one  of  the  rear  pews,  with  the  idea 
of  seeing  how  he  behaved  during  service,  and  sub 
sequently  accompanying  him  home,  so  weighed 
upon  the  spirits  of  the  first  soprano  that  William 
Waters  accomplished  the  choir  steps,  in  the  reces 
sional,  without  a  stumble. 

Throughout  the  service  Edgar  was  as  one  in  a 
dream.  His  vision  was  turned  inward,  and  he 
even  forgot  his  effective  trick  of  frightening  the 
choirmaster  into  cold  chills  by  looking  vacantly 
uncertain  of  the  proper  moment  to  take  up  the 
choir's  share  of  the  responses.  The  fact  that  he 
invariably  came  in  at  the  precise  beat  had  never 
fortified  Mr.  Fellowes  against  that  nervous  shud 
der  as  he  saw  his  first  soprano's  mouth  open  hesi- 
tatinglytwo  seconds  before  the  time.  To-day  he 
[1741 


EDGAR,  THE  CHOIR  BOY  UNCELESTIAL 

was  spared  all  anxiety.  Edgar's  voice  and  Tim's 
eyes  were  the  perfection  of  tuneful  devotion. 

"And  bless  thine  in-her-i-lance  !  " 

they  implored  softly.  Neither  of  them  had  the  re 
motest  idea  what  inheritance  meant  —  they  would 
have  besought  as  willingly  a  blessing  for  irrele 
vance  or  inelegance ;  but  to  the  assistant  clergy 
man,  whose  nervous  scratching  of  his  nose,  while 
waiting  for  the  alms-basin  to  reach  him,  was  to 
Edgar  and  Tim  as  definite  and  eagerly  awaited  a 
part  of  the  service  as  any  other  detail,  the  slow- 
syllabled  Gregorian  cadence  brought  the  word  in 
a  sudden  new  light  and  he  made  it  the  text  for  a 
sermon  so  successful  as  to  get  him,  a  little  later, 
a  parish  of  his  own.  This  leads  us  to  many  in 
teresting  conclusions,  musical  and  other. 

The  rector  noticed  with  pleasure  the  seedy- 
looking  man  in  the  back  of  the  church  :  he  was 
just  then  smarting  a  little  under  the  accusation  of 
"aristocratic  tendencies":  a  body  of  conservatives 
had  never  approved  of  the  boy-choir.  He  hoped 
to  get  the  man  into  the  Brotherhood  of  St. 
I  1751 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

Andrew,  if  he  were  allied  to  no  other  organiza 
tion. 

Mr.  Ogden,  as  we  know,  was  on  business  of  his 
own  —  business  that  kept  him  glaring  fixedly  in 
the  rector's  direction,  which  encouraged  that  good 
man  still  further.  It  is  to  be  doubted  if  the 
Brotherhood  would  have  appealed  to  him,  how 
ever.  Not  that  he  would  have  been  hindered  by 
any  narrow  sectarian  tendencies.  Mrs.  Ogden, 
vyho  did  up  the  shirt-waists  of  the  Presbyterian 
minister's  daughter,  was  by  her  presented  regu 
larly  with  a  missionary  bank  in  the  form  of  a 
papier-mache  cottage  with  a  chimney  imitating 
red  brick ;  and  Edgar,  employing  a  Napoleonic 
strategy,  triumphantly  attended  the  Methodist 
Christmas  festivals  and  the  Baptist  Sunday-school 
picnics,  the  latter  society  offering  a  merry-go- 
round  on  a  larger  scale,  the  former  providing  the 
infant  faithful  with  more  practicable  presents  and 
larger  candy-bags.  Squealer,  moreover,  had  sung 
"  The  Holy  City "  more  than  once  for  the  Con 
gregational  Christian  Endeavor  Society,  so  that 
Mr.  Ogden  felt,  with  a  certain  justice,  that  his 

I  176  I 


EDGAR,     THE     CHOIR      BOY     UNCELESTIAL 

church  connection  did  him  credit  on  the  whole, 
and  excused  himself  from  any  undue  energy  in 
that  direction. 

He  watched  his  son  keenly,  but  Edgar's  eccle 
siastical  demeanor  was  without  a  flaw.  More 
over,  his  plans  were  gradually  maturing.  He 
sang  Amen  at  proper  intervals  and  by  a  process 
of  unconscious  cerebration  managed  to  get  be 
tween  the  organist  and  the  tenor,  who  depended 
on  Mr.  Fellowes  to  mark  the  time  for  him  with 
his  left  hand,  and  in  consequence  of  being  unable 
to  see  him,  bungled  his  offertory  solo  ;  but  his 
thoughts  were  otherwhere.  He  had  decided  to 
slip  out  of  the  south  transept  door,  thus  eluding 
parental  pursuit,  and  fight  Howard  Potter  in  his 
own  back  yard  before  he  slept.  He  would  prac 
tise  upon  his  victim  a  recent  scientific  acquisition 
proudly  styled  by  him  "  the  upper-cut,""  which  he 
had  learned  from  an  acquaintance  at  the  cost  of 
ten  cents  and  three  sugar-cookies. 

At  this  point  the  anthem-prelude  drew  him  to 
his  feet.  He  had  saved  his  voice,  according  to 
directions,  for  his  solo,  and  in  the  waiting  hush 
[177] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

every  word  flowed,  soft  and  pure,  to  the   end  of 
the  church. 

"  Mercy  and  truth,  mercy  and  truth,  mercy  — 
Ah,  that  exquisite  soft  swoop  downward  !  The 
organ  rippled  on  contentedly,  a  continuation  of 
Edgar's  flutelike  tones  —  "  and  truth  are  me-et 
together ! "  There  was  all  the  richness  of  a  wo 
man's  voice,  all  the  passionless  clearness  of  a 
boy's,  all  the  morning  innocence  of  a  child's. 

It  occurred  to  him  suddenly  that  the  north 
transept  would  be  safer  —  it  was  on  the  side 
farthest  from  home. 

"  Righteousness  and  peace,  righteousness  and 
peace  have  kissed  each  other ! " 

He  wondered  if  Howard  had  learned  the  up 
per-cut  since  their  last  encounter. 

Tim's  face  was  as  the  face  of  an  angel ;  a  long 
slanting  ray  from  the  rose-window  fell  across  his 
curls. 

" Have  kissed  each  other"  Edgar  sighed  softly. 

"Have  kissed  each  other—  "the  caressing  tones 

melted   into   the   organ's,   whispered   once   more, 

" each   other"    and    died    lingeringly.       A    long 

[178] 


EDGAR,     THE      CHOIR      BOY      U  N  C  E  L  K  S  T  I  A  L 

breath,  an  audible  "  Ah-h-h  ! "  drifted  through 
the  church.  The  choirmaster  kicked  his  feet 
together  under  the  organ  for  joy.  He  little 
knew  that  at  that  very  moment  the  future  of 
his  vested  choir  was  swinging  lightly  in  the 
balance. 

But  such  was  the  fact.  Fate,  who  links  to 
gether  events  seemingly  isolated,  smoothed  Ed 
gar's  way  to  his  fight,  but  allowed  him  to  be 
beaten.  If  this  had  not  happened,  his  wrath 
would  not  have  vented  itself  in  hectoring  a  bad- 
tempered  bass  at  the  Wednesday  rehearsal,  by 
scampering  in  front  of  him  and  mimicking  with 
wonderful  accuracy  his  gruff,  staccato  voice. 

"  He  taketh  up  the  isles  —  as  a  ver-ry  —  little 
thing ! "  mocked  Edgar. 

"  Shut  up  !  "  growled  the  bass. 

"  A  ver-ry  lit-tle  thing ! "  Edgar  continued 
malignantly,  slipping  across  his  victim's  path. 

"  Oh,  all  right,  young  feller !  "  called  the  bass, 

enraged  at  the  grins  and  applause  of  the  other 

men,   "  all    right  !     Just   you    wait   till   Sunday, 

that's  all ! "     If  Edgar  had  not  teased  him  so,  he 

[179] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 


"  '  You  re  going  to  be  bounced,  that's  what.'1  " 

would  not  have  added  :   "  I  know  what'll  happen 
then,  if  you  don't." 

"  What  ?  "     Edgar  inquired  derisively,  catch 
ing  up  with  him. 

"You're  going  to   be   bounced,  that's   what," 
said  the  bass  irritably. 

"  Aw.  come  off!      I  ain't  either  !  " 
[180] 


EDGAR,  THE   CHOIR  BOY  UXCELESTIAL 

"  Well,  you  ought  to  be,  the  whole  pack  of 
you,'"  the  bass  continued  decidedly.  "  Bag  and 
baggage!  And  a  good  riddance,  too.  No  choir 
boy  camping-out  tins  summer  !  " 

Edgar  dropped  behind  and  mused.  "  Who 
told  yer  ?  "  he  called. 

"Ask  Fellowes —  and  if  he  don't  lick  you,  I 
will !  "  retorted  the  bass,  making  a  quick  grab, 
which  Edgar  easily  evaded. 

He  summoned  his  mates  immediately ;  the 
question  was  laid  before  them.  Had  they  heard 
that  they  were  to  be  bounced  ?  Did  they  be 
lieve  that  the  two  weeks1  camping-out,  the  object 
of  all  their  endurance  and  loyalty,  the  prize  of 
their  high  calling,  was  to  be  discontinued  ?  Tim 
was  deputed  to  inquii'e  on  Saturday  afternoon. 
He  returned  disconsolate  ;  they  shoved  each  other 
significantly. 

"  Whafd  he  say  ?     Whafd  he  say  ?  " 

"  He  says  mos1  probly  not.  Says  it  costs  too 
much.  Says  maybe  a  picnic  — 

"  Aw !  old  chump  !  Goin'  to  bounce  us, 
too  ?  " 

[181] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

"  I  dunno.  I  guess  so.  I  didn't  ask  him  that. 
I  just  says  to  him,  '  Aw,  say,  Mr.  Fellowes,  ain't 
us  boys  gom"*  cam  pin'  ? '  An1  he  says,  '  I  guess 


"  '  Well,  I  bet  he  dont  bounce  me!'  * 
not  this  year,  Tim,  mos'  prob'ly.      Maybe  a  pic- 


"  Well,  I  bet  he  don't  bounce  me  !  I  betcher 
that,  I  betcher,  now ! " 

Edgar  strutted  before  them.  They  regarded 
him  with  interest. 

"  Whatcher  goin'  to  do  ? "  they  asked  respect- 

fuUy. 

[182] 


EDGAR,     THE      CHOIR     BOY     UN  CELESTIAL 

"Whafll  I  do?  HI  —  Til  bounce  myself!" 
he  called  over  his  shoulder,  as  he  strode  home. 

His  moody  air  during  supper  convinced  Mr. 
Ogden  that  something  was  up.  Ever  since  he 
had  discovered  Edgar's  demand  for  an  additional 
ten  cents  a  Sunday,  on  the  ground  that  his  mother 
thought  him  worth  more,  and  his  later  daring 
strike  for  five  cents  further  salary,  which  the 
choirmaster  had  innocently  considered  abundantly 
justified  and  paid  out  of  his  own  pocket,  Mr. 
Ogden,  who,  having  heard  rumors  of  wild  dissipa 
tions  in  the  peanut  and  rootbeer  line,  had  pounced 
upon  his  son  returning  plethoric  from  pay  day, 
and  promptly  annexed  the  extra  fifteen  cents,  was 
convinced  of  the  necessity  of  surveillance  for  this 
wily  wage-earner,  and  formed  the  habit  of  escort 
ing  him  regularly  on  pay  nights,  alone  at  first, 
later  assisted  by  Mrs.  Ogden,  who  accompanied 
the  family  group  as  a  self-constituted  and  final 
auditor.  It  has  frequently  been  remarked  that  a 
great  grief  may  bind  together  once  disunited  mem 
bers  of  a  family  ;  it  is  extremely  improbable  that 
any  affliction  whatever  could  have  produced  among 
[183] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

the  Ogdens  such  a  gratifying  espit  de  corps  as 
resulted  from  their  unfeigned  interest  in  pay  day. 
But  when  Mr.  Ogden  had  shadowed  his  son  to 
no  more  secluded  and  dangerous  spot  than  the 
church-yard,  and  saw  him  in  earnest  conclave  with 
his  attentive  mates,  he  went,  relieved,  about  his 
own  business,  reassured  by  the  words  "  campin' 
out "  and  "  Sunday  afternoon,"  that  he  caught 
from  behind  a  convenient  tombstone.  He  was 
utterly  unconscious  that  the  scene  he  had  left  was 
far  more  menacing  to  his  household  than  even  the 
most  disfiguring  fight  of  his  warlike  son's  varied 
repertoire.  But  so  it  was.  Haranguing,  promis 
ing,  taunting,  threatening,  Edgar  led  them,  fi 
nally  subdued,  into  one  of  the  most  satisfactory 
rehearsals  of  the  year. 

r 

They  waited  till  quarter  of  eleven  on  Sunday, 
and  finally  the  men  marched  in  alone,  somewhat 
conscious  and  ill  at  ease,  followed  by  a  red-faced, 
determined  rector,  and  a  puzzled  visiting  clergy 
man.  They  sang  "  O  happy  band  of  pilgrims" 
but  it  was  remarked  by  the  wondering  congrega- 

[184] 


EDGAR,     THE      CHOIR     BOY     UN  CELESTIAL 

tion  that  they  did  not  look  happy  themselves. 
There  was  no  music  but  the  hymns,  which,  as 
they  had  been  altered  to  well-known  numbers, 


"  And  made  a  speech  that  will  adorn  the  parish  annalg 
for  many  a  year." 

were  chanted  lustily  by  the  inhabitants  of  the 
pews,  thus  winning  the  sincere  admiration  of  the 
visiting  clergyman. 

"  Really,  such  well-trained  congregational  sing- 

[185] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

ing  is  quite  rare,"  he  remarked  afterward  to 
the  rector,  and  was  somewhat  surprised  at  the 
short  answer :  "  It  shall  certainly  never  occur 
again." 

It  had  gone  hard  with  the  vested  choir  but  for 
Mrs.  Ogden.  Mr.  Fellowes  pleaded  in  vain  ;  in 
vain  the  Ladies'  Auxiliary  passed  resolutions ; 
the  rector  was  firm.  It  was  only  when  Mrs.  Og 
den  swept  in  upon  him  in  his  study,  a  chastened, 
still  apprehensive  boy  under  one  arm,  followed  by 
half  a  dozen  women  similarly  equipped,  and  made 
a  speech  that  will  adorn  the  parish  annals  for 
many  a  year,  that  he  yielded,  respectfully  con 
vinced. 

Edgar  had  met  his  Waterloo,  and  lived,  so  to 
speak,  under  a  consequent  military  surveillance, 
with  much  of  his  prestige  gone,  his  pay  docked 
for  a  month,  and  the  certainty  of  approaching 
warm  weather,  when  it  would  be  impossible  to 
take  cold,  and  nothing  but  a  summons  to  the 
choir  invisible  could  excuse  him  from  rehearsals 
here,  to  render  the  future  all  too  clear  to  him. 
In  the  words  of  the  processional, 


EDGAR,     THE     CHOIR     BOY     UN  CELESTIAL 

"  His  tongue  could  never  tire 
Of  singing  with  the  choir." 

To-day,  if  you  should  attend  evensong  at  St. 
Mark's,  you  will  beyond  a  doubt  be  delighted 
with  a  silver  voice  that  appears  to  proceed  from 
a  violet-eyed  boy  with  a  sweet  expression. 

"  It  is  a  good  thing1  to  give  thanks  unto  the 
Lord!"  the  voice  declares  melodiously,  but  it  is 
doubtful  if  its  owner  is  in  a  thankful  frame  of 
mind.  He  would  in  all  probability  prefer  to  be 
with  his  brother  Samuel,  who  is  at  present  tour 
ing  the  West  triumphantly  with  a  Methodist  re 
vivalist,  rendering  "  Where  is  my  wandering  boy 
to-night  ?  "  to  weeping  congregations  for  ten  dol 
lars  a  week  and  his  traveling  expenses.  And 
even  this  success  leaves  Squealer  dissatisfied ;  he 
would  far  rather  be  in  his  father's  position  — 
first  tenor  in  the  Denman  Thompson  Old 
Homestead  Quartette  —  and  sing  "  The  Palms  " 
behind  the  scenes,  when  the  stereopticon  vision 
of  the  repentant  prodigal  thrills  the  audi 
ence. 

It  would  seem  that  your  artistic  temperament 

[187] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

is  doomed  to  discontent.  Whereas  Mrs.  Ogden, 
who  cannot  carry  a  tune,  is  perfectly  satisfied 
with  fine  laundry  work. 


"Perfectly  satisfied  with  fine  laundry  work." 


[188] 


THE   LITTLE   GOD  AND  DICKY 


THE   LITTLE   GOD   AND   DICKY 

'HERE  are  you  going?"  said  some- 
bodv,  as  he  slunk  out  toward  the  hat- 
rack. 

"  Oh,  out,"  he  returned,  with  what  a  vaude 
ville  artist  would  call  a  good  imitation  of  a  per 
son  wishing  to  appear  blamelessly  forgetful  of 
something  he  remembered  quite  dis 
tinctly. 

"  Well,  see  that  you  don't  stay 
long.  Remember  what  it  is  this 
afternoon." 

lie  turned  like  a  stag  at  bay. 

"  What  is  it  this  afternoon?"  he 
demanded  viciously. 

"  You  know  very  well." 

"  What?1" 

"  See  that  you're  here,  that's  all. 

You've  got  to  get  dressed." 

"//«  turned  Me 

"  I  will  not  go  to  that  old  dancing-    a  stag  at  bay." 
[191] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

school  again,  and  I  tell  you  that  I  won't,  and  I 
won't.  And  I  won't !  " 

"Now,  Dick,  don't  begin  that  all  over  again. 
It's  so  silly  of  you.  You've  got  to  go." 

«  Why  ?  " 

"  Because  it's  the  thing  to  do." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  you  must  learn  to  dance." 

"Why?" 

"  Every  nice  boy  learns." 

"Why?" 

"  That  will  do,  Richard.  Go  and  find  your 
pumps.  Now,  get  right  up  from  the  floor,  and 
if  you  scratch  the  Morris  chair  I  shall  speak  to 
your  father.  Aren't  you  ashamed  of  yourself? 
Get  right  up  —  you  must  expect  to  be  hurt,  if 
you  pull  so.  Come,  Richard!  Now,  stop  crying 
• —  a  great  boy  like  you  !  I  am  sorry  I  hurt  your 
elbow,  but  you  know  very  well  you  aren't  crying 
for  that  at  all.  Come  along  ! " 

His  sister  flitted  by  the  door  in  an  engaging 
deshabille,  her  accordeon-pleated  skirt  held  care 
fully  from  the  floor,  her  hair  in  two  glistening 
[192] 


THE     LITTLE     GOD     AND     DICKY 


blue-knotted    pigtails.     A    trail    of  rose-scented 
soap  floated  through  the  hall. 

"  Hurry  up,  Dick,  or  well  be  late,"  she  called 
back  sweetly,  secure  in  the  knowledge  that  if  such 
virtuous  accents  maddened  him  still  further,  no 
one  could  blame  her.  His  rage  justified  her  faith. 

"  Oh,  you  shut  up,  will  you  !  "  he  snarled. 

She  looked  meek,  and  listened  to  his  depriva 
tion  of  dessert  for  the  rest 
of  the  week  with  an  air  of 
love  for  the  sinner  and  ha 
tred  for  the  sin  that  deceived 
even  her  older  sister,  who 
was  dressing  her. 

A  desperately  patient 
monologue  from  the  next 
room  indicated  the  course 
of  events  there. 

"  Your  necktie  is  on  the 
bed.  No,  I  don't  know 
where  the  blue  one  is  —  it 
doesn't  matter  ;  that  is  j  ust 
as  good.  Yes,  it  is.  No, 
[193] 


Secure  in  the  knowledge 
that  if  such  virtuous 
accents  maddened  him 
still  further,  no  one 
could  blame  her." 


THE     MADNESS      OF      PHILIP 

you  can  not.  You  will  have  to  wear  one.  Be 
cause  no  one  ever  goes  without.  I  don't  know 
why. 

"  Many  a  boy  would  be  thankful  and  glad  to 
have  silk  stockings.     Nonsense  —  your   legs  are 


"  '  Stop  your  scowling,  for  goodness1  sake,  Dick.'  " 

warm  enough.  I  don't  believe  you.  Now,  Rich 
ard,  how  perfectly  ridiculous  !  There  is  no  left 
and  right  to  stockings.  You  have  no  time  to 
change.  Shoes  are  a  different  thing.  Well, 
hurry  up,  then.  Because  they  are  made  so,  I 
suppose.  I  don't  know  why. 

"  Brush  it  more  on  that  side  —  no,  you  can't 
[194] 


THE  LITTLE  GOD  AND  DICKY 

go  to  the  barber's.  You  went  last  week.  It 
Jooks  perfectly  well.  I  cut  it  ?  Why,  I  don't 
know  how  to  trim  hair.  Anyway,  there  isn't 
time  now.  It  will  have  to  do.  Stop  your 
scowling,  for  goodness1  sake,  Dick.  Have  you  a 
handkerchief?  It  makes  no  difference,  you  must 
carry  one.  You  ought  to  want  to  use  it.  Well, 
you  should.  Yes,  they  always  do,  whether  they 
have  colds  or  not.  I  don't  know  why. 

"Your  Golden  Text!  The  idea!  No,  you 
cannot.  You  can  learn  that  Sunday  before 
church.  This  is  not  the  time  to  learn  Golden 
Texts.  I  never  saw  such  a  child.  Now  take  your 
pumps  and  find  the  plush  bag.  Why  not  ?  Put 
them  right  with  Ruth's.  That's  what  the  bag 
was  made  for.  Well,  how  do  you  want  to  carry 
them  ?  Why,  I  never  heard  of  anything  so  silly  ! 
You  will  knot  the  strings.  I  don't  care  if  they  do 
carry  skates  that  way  —  skates  are  not  slippers. 
You'd  lose  them.  Very  well,  then,  only  hurry  up. 
I  should  think  you'd  be  ashamed  to  have  them 
dangling  around  your  neck  that  way.  Because 
people  never  do  carry  them  so.  I  don't  know  why. 
[195] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

"  Now,  here's  your  coat.  Well,  I  can't  help  it, 
you  have  no  time  to  hunt  for  them.  Put  your 
hands  in  your  pockets  —  it's  not  far.  And  mind 
you  don't  run  for  Ruth  every  time.  You  don't 
take  any  pains  with  her,  and  you  hustle  her  about, 
Miss  Dorothy  says.  Take  another  little  girl. 
Yes,  you  must.  I  shall  speak  to  your  father  if 
you  answer  me  in  that  way,  Richard.  Men  don't 
dance  with  their  sisters.  Because  they  don't.  I 
don't  know  why." 

He  slammed  the  door  till  the  piazza  shook,  and 
strode  along  beside  his  scandalized  sister,  the 
pumps  flopping  noisily  on  his  shoulders.  She 
tripped  along  contentedly  — -  she  liked  to  go. 
The  personality  capable  of  extracting  pleasure 
from  the  hour  before  them  baffled  his  comprehen 
sion,  and  he  scowled  fiercely  at  her,  rubbing  his 
silk  stockings  together  at  every  step,  to  enjoy  the 
strange  smooth  sensation  thus  produced.  This 
gave  him  a  bow-legged  gait  that  distressed  his 
sister  beyond  words. 

"  I  think  you  might  stop.  Everybody's  look 
ing  at  you  !  Please  stop,  Dick  Pendleton  ;  you're 
[196] 


THE     LITTLE     GOD     AND     DICKY 


a  mean  old  thing.  I  should  think  you'd  be 
ashamed  to  carry  your  slippers  that  way.  If  you 
jump  in  that  wet  place  and  spatter  me  I  shall  tell 
papa  —  you  will  care,  when  I  tell  him,  just  the 
same!  You're 
just  as  bad  as  you 
can  be.  I  shan't 
speak  with  you 
to-day  ! " 

She  pursed  up 
her  lips  and  main 
tained  a  deter 
mined  silence.  He 
rubbed  his  legs 
together  with  re 
newed  emphasis. 
Acquaintances 
met  them  and 
passed,  unconscious  of  anything  but  the  sweet 
picture  of  a  sister  and  a  brother  and  a  plush 
bag  going  daintily  and  dutifully  to  dancing- 
school  ;  but  his  heart  was  hot  at  the  injustice  of 
the  world  and  the  hypocritical  cant  of  girls,  and 


Going  daintily  and  dutifully  to 
dancing-school." 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

her  thoughts  were  busy  with  her  indictment  of 
him  before  the  family  tribunal  —  she  hoped  he 
would  be  sent  to  bed.  Life  is  full  and  running 
over  with  just  such  rosy  deceits. 

He  jumped  over  the  threshold  of  the  long  room 
and  aimed  his  cap  at  the  head  of  a  boy  he  knew, 
who  was  standing  on  one  foot  to  put  on  a  slipper. 
This  destroyed  his  friend's  balance,  and  a  cheer 
ing  scuffle  followed.  Life  assumed  a  more  hope 
ful  aspect.  In  the  other  dressing-room  his  sister 
had  fluttered  into  a  whispering,  giggling,  many- 
colored  throng ;  buzzing  and  chuckling  with  the 
rest,  she  adjusted  her  slippers,  and  perked  out 
her  bows,  her  braids  quivering  with  sociability. 

A  shrill  whistle  called  them  out  in  two  crowd 
ing  bunches  to  the  polished  floor. 

Hoping  against  hope,  he  had  clung  to  the  beau 
tiful  thought  that  Miss  Dorothy  would  be  sick,  that 
she  had  missed  her  train  —  but  no  !  there  she  was, 
with  her  shiny  high-heeled  slippers,  her  pink  skirt 
that  pulled  out  like  a  fan,  and  her  silver  whistle  on 
a  chain.  The  little  clicking  castanets  that  rang 
out  so  sharply  were  in  her  hand  beyond  a  doubt. 
[198] 


THE  LITTLE  GOD  AND  DICKY 

"  Ready,  children  !  Spread  out.  Take  your 
lines.  First  position.  Now  !  " 

The  large  man  at  the  piano,  who  always  looked 
half  asleep,  thundered  out  the  first  bars  of  the 
latest  waltz,  and  the  business  began. 

Their  eyes  were  fixed  solemnly  on  Miss  Doro 
thy's  pointed  shoes.  They  slipped  and  slid  and 


"A  line  of  toes  rose  gradually." 

crossed  their  legs  and  arched  their  pudgy  insteps; 
the  boys  breathed  hard  over  their  gleaming  col 
lars.  On  the  right  side  of  the  hall  thirty  hands 
held  out  their  diminutive  skirts  at  an  alluring 
angle.  On  the  left,  neat  black  legs  pattered  dili 
gently  through  mystic  evolutions. 

The  chords  rolled   out   slower,   with  dramatic 
[199] 


pauses  between  ;  sharp  clicks  of  the  castanets 
rang  through  the  hall ;  a  line  of  toes  rose  gradu 
ally  towards  the  horizontal,  whirled  more  or  less 
steadily  about,  crossed  behind,  bent  low,  bowed, 
and  with  a  flutter  of  skirts  resumed  the  first  posi 
tion. 

A  little  breeze  of  laughing  admiration  circled 
the  row  of  mothers  and  aunts. 

"  Isn't  that  too  cunning !  Just  like  a  little 
ballet !  Aren't  they  graceful,  really,  now  !  " 

"  One,  two,  three  !  One,  two,  three  !  Slide, 
slide,  cross  ;  one,  two,  three  !  " 

There  are  those  who  find  pleasure  in  the  aim 
less  intricacies  of  the  dance  ;  self-respecting  men 
even  have  been  known  voluntarily  to  frequent  as 
semblies  devoted  to  this  nerve-racking  attitudiniz 
ing  futility.  Among  such,  however,  you  shall 
seek  in  vain  in  future  years  for  Richard  Carr  Pen- 
dleton. 

"  One,  two,  three  !  Reverse,  two,  three  !  "  If 
you  want  your  heels  clipped,  step  back  inadver 
tently  into  Master  Pendleton's  domain.  No  mat 
ter  how  pure  your  purposes,  you  will  illustrate 
[  200  ] 


THE  LITTLE  GOD  AND  DICKY 

the  inevitable  doom  of  the  transgressor  against 
nature's  immutable  limitations  ;  you  will  be  se 
verely  nipped.  And  it  will  be  just  —  he  is  tri 
umphantly  following  the  rules. 
The  whistle  shrilled. 
"  Ready  for  the  two-step,  children  !  " 
A  mild  tolerance  grew  on  him.  If  dancing  must 
be,  better  the  two-step  than  anything  else.  It  is 
not  an  alluring  dance,  your  two-step  ;  it  does  not 
require  temperament.  Any  one  with  a  firm  in 
tention  of  keeping  the  time  and  a  strong  arm  can 
drag  a  girl  through  it  very  acceptably.  It  was 
Dicky's  custom  to  hurl  himself  at  the  colored 
bunch  nearest  him,  seize  a  Sabine,  so  to  speak, 
and  plunge  into  the  dance.  He  had  his  eye  on 
Louise  Hetherington,  a  large,  plump  girl,  with  a 
tremendous  braid  of  hair.  She  was  a  size  too  big 
for  the  class,  but  everybody  liked  to  dance  with 
her,  for  she  knew  how,  and  piloted  her  diminutive 
partners  with  great  skill.  But  she  had  been 
snapped  up  by  the  six-year-old  Harold,  and  was 
even  now  guiding  his  infant  steps  around  the 
hall. 

[901] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

Dicky  skirted  the  row  of  mothers  and  aunts 
cautiously.  Heaven  send  Miss  Dorothy  was  not 
looking  at  him  !  She  seemed  to  have  eyes  in  the 
back  of  her  head,  that  woman. 

"  Oh,  look  !  Did  you  ever  see  anything  so 
sweet !  "  said  somebody.  Involuntarily  he  turned. 
There  in  a  corner,  all  by  herself,  a  little  girl  was 
gravely  performing  a  dance.  He  stared  at  her 
curiously.  For  the  first  time,  free  from  all  per 
sonal  connection  with  them,  he  discovered  that 
those  motions  were  pretty. 

She  was  ethereally  slender,  brown  eyed,  brown 
haired,  brown  skinned.  A  little  fluffy  white  dress 
spread  fan-shaped  above  her  knees ;  her  ankles 
were  bird-like.  The  foot  on  which  she  poised 
seemed  hardly  to  rest  on  the  ground  ;  the  other, 
pointed  outward,  hovered  easily  —  now  here,  now 
there.  Her  eyes  were  serious,  her  hair  hung  loose. 
She  swayed  lightly ;  one  little  gloved  hand  held 
out  her  skirt,  the  other  marked  the  time.  Her 
performance  was  an  apotheosis  of  the  two-step  : 
that  metronomic  dance  would  not  have  recognized 
itself  under  her  treatment. 
[202] 


Thethelia,"  she 
lisped. 


THE     LITTLE     GOD     AND     DICKY 

Dicky  admired.  But  the  ad 
miration  of  his  sex  is  notoriously 
fatal  to  the  art  that  attracts  it. 
He  advanced  and  bowed  jerkily, 
grasped  one  of  the  loops  of  her 
sash  in  the  back,  stamped  gently 
a  moment  to  get  the  time,  and 
the  artist  sank  into  the  partner, 
the  pirouette  grew  coarse  to 
sympathize  with  clay. 

"  Don't  they  do  it  well, 
though  !  See  those  little  things  near  the  door  ! " 
he  caught  as  they  went  by,  and  his  heart  swelled 
with  pride. 

"  What's  your  name  ?  "  he  asked  abruptly  after 
the  dance. 

"Thethelia,"  she  lisped,   and   shook   her  hair 
over  her  cheek.     She  was  very  shy. 

"  Mine's  Richard  Carr  Pendleton.     My  father's 
a  lawyer.     What's  yours  ?  " 

"I  —  I  don't    know  !  "    she   gasped,  obviously 
considering  flight. 

He     chuckled    delightedly.      Was    ever    such 
[203] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

engaging  idiocy  ?  She  didn't  know.  Well, 
well! 

"  Pooh  !  "  he  said  grandly,  "  I  guess  you  know. 
Don't  you,  really  ?  " 

She  looked  hopelessly  at  her  fan,  and  shook  her 
head.  Suddenly  a  light  dawned  in  her  big  eyes. 

"  Maybe  I  know,"  she  murmured.  "  I  gueth  I 
know.  He  —  he'th  a  really  thtate  !  " 

"  A  really  state  ?  That  isn't  anything  —  noth 
ing  at  all.  A  really  state  ?  "  he  frowned  at  her 
judicially.  Her  lip  quivered  ;  she  turned  and  ran 
away. 

"Here,  come  back !"  he  called,  but  she  was  gone. 

"  Ready  for  the  cotillion,  children  !  "  and  Miss 
Dorothy,  her  arms  full  of  long,  colored  ribbons, 
was  upon  him. 

There  was  a  rumbling  chord  from  the  piano,  a 
mad  rush  for  the  head  of  the  line.  A  rosy  blonde, 
with  big,  china  blue  eyes,  dragged  her  protesting 
sailor-suited  partner  to  the  front,  and  glared 
triumphantly  at  the  roly-poly  couple  behind  her. 
They  stared  at  each  other  desperately  —  they  had 
had  their  dreams  of  precedence  —  and  suddenly, 
[20*] 


THE  LITTLE  GOD  AND  DICKY 

as  the  robbers  stood  far  apart  and  swung  their 
arms  carelessly  high,  the  roly-poly  couple  crouched 
down,  slipped  between  them,  and  emerged  at  the 
head  of  the  procession  ! 

The  march  began.  Dicky,  linked  to  a  tom 
boy  in  white  duck,  who  whistled  the  march  cor 
rectly  as  she  swung  along,  had  fought  for  a  place 
behind  his  late  partner,  and  as  they  clambered 
into  adjacent  chairs  he  nudged  her  violently  and 
whispered,  "  Fm  going  to  choose  you  ! " 

She  smiled  shyly. 

"  All  right,"  she  said. 

Miss  Dorothy  approached  with  the  favors.  A 
violent  hissing  and  snapping  of  fingers  burst  out 
from  the  line.  They  wriggled  on  their  chairs. 
Miss  Dorothy  paused,  threateningly. 

"  Perhaps  we  had  better  not  have  any  cotil 
lion,"  she  said  sternly.  "  If  I  hear  another 
hiss  —  There  was  a  dead  silence. 

Dicky  sat  primly,  looking  at  the  ceiling.     As 

he  had  expected,  a  broad  violet  streamer  fell  in 

his  lap.      He  leaped  to  the  floor,  seized  Cecelia  by 

her  skirt,  hustled  the  tomboy,  as  in  duty  bound, 

[205] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

within  the  purple  leash,  and  beckoned  to  the  next 
girl  in  the  row.  They  arranged  themselves  three 
abreast,  and  he  drove  them,  to  the  inspiring  two- 
step,  across  the  room,  in  line  with  two  other 
drivers  similarly  equipped.  On  the  return  trip 
they  were  confronted  by  three  bands  of  prancing 
little  boys,  perilously  realistic  in  their  interpreta 
tion  of  the  pretty  figure,  and  as  they  met  in  the 
middle,  with  a  scramble  of  adjustment,  the  steeds 
paired  off  neatly,  and  the  flushed  drivers,  more 
or  less  entangled  in  their  long  ribbons,  accom 
plished  an  ultimate  two-step. 

"  Now,  you  choose  me,"  he  commanded,  as  they 
scrambled  into  the  chairs.  Again  she  smiled, 
again  she  hid  her  cheek  with  her  hair. 

"  All  right,"  she  said  again. 

In  vain  Louise  Hetherington  made  signs  to  him  ; 
in  vain  the  rosy  blonde  snapped  her  fingers  —  he 
was  blind  and  deaf.  He  slipped  into  the  broad 
blue  ribbon  she  held  out  to  him  at  arm^s  length, 
and  cantered  cheerfully  before  her,  her  slave  for 
ever.  How  lightly  she  floated  on  behind  them  ! 
Not  like  that  tomboy  Frances,  who  clucked  at 
[  206  ] 


THE  LITTLE  GOD  AND  DICKY 

her  team  as  if  they  were  horses,  and  nearly  ran 
them  down  ;  nor  like  that  silly,  fat,  yellow- 
curled  Gladys,  who  bubbled  with  laughter  and 
hung  back  on  the  satin  reins  until  her  team 
nearly  fell  over.  Cecelia  swam  like  thistledown 
in  their  wake,  and  slipped  the  ribbon  over  their 
heads  with  all  the  effect  of  a  scarf  dance. 


"  How  lightly  she  floated  on  behitul  them!" 

"  That  will  do  for  to-day,"  said  Miss  Dorothy, 
gathering  up  the  ribbons,  and  they  surged  into 
the  dressing-rooms,  to  be  buttoned  up  and  pulled 
out  of  draughts  and  trundled  home. 

She  was  swathed  carefully  in  a  wadded  silk 
jacket,  and  then  enveloped  in  a  hooded  Mother 
Hubbard  cloak ;  she  looked  like  an  angelic 
[207] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

brownie.  Dicky  ran  up  to  her  as  a  woman  led 
her  out  to  a  coupe  at  the  curb,  and  tugged  at  the 
ribbon  of  her  cloak. 

"  Where  do  you  live  ?  Say,  where  do  you  ? " 
he  demanded. 

Her  hair  was  under  the  hood,  but  she  hid  her 
face  behind  the  woman. 

"I  —  I  don't  know,"  she  said  softly.  The 
woman  laughed. 

"  Why,  yes,  you  do,  Cissy,"  she  reproved. 
"  Tell  him  directly,  now." 

She  put  one  tiny  finger  in  her  mouth. 

"  I  —  I  gueth  I  live  on  Chethnut  Thtreet,"  she 
called  as  the  door  slammed  and  shut  her  in. 

His  sister  amicably  offered  him  half  the  plush 
bag  to  carry,  and  opened  a  running  criticism  of 
the  afternoon. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  anybody  act  like  that  Fran- 
nie  Leach  ?  She's  awfully  rough.  Miss  Dorothy 
spoke  to  her  twice  —  wasn't  that  dreadful  ?  What 
made  you  dance  all  the  time  with  Cissy  Weston  ? 
She's  an  awful  baby  —  a  regular  'fraid-cat !  We 
girls  tease  her  just  as  easy  —  do  you  like  her  ?  " 
[208] 


THE  LITTLE  GOD  AND  DICKY 

"  She's  the  prettiest  one  there  !  "  he  said. 

His  sister  stared  at  him. 

"  Why,  Dick  Pendleton,  she  is  not !  She's  so 
little  —  she's  not  half  so  pretty  as  Agnes,  or  —  or 
lots  of  the  girls.  She's  such  a  baby.  She  puts 
her  finger  in  her  mouth  if  anybody  says  anything 
at  all.  If  you  ask  her  a  single  thing  she  does 
like  this  :  *  I  don't  know,  I  don't  know  ! '  " 

He  smiled  scornfully.  Did  he  not  know  how 
she  did  it  ?  Had  he  not  seen  that  adorable  finger, 
those  appealing  eyes  ? 

"  And  she  can't  talk  plain  !  She  lisps  —  truly 
she  does  ! " 

Heavens  !  Was  ever  a  girl  so  thick-headed  as 
that  sister  of  his  !  Brains,  technical  knowledge, 
experience  of  the  world,  these  he  had  never  looked 
to  find  in  her  ;  but  perceptions,  feminine  intui 
tions  —  were  they  lacking,  too  ? 

Poor  deluded  sex  !  What  shall  emancipation, 
what  shall  higher  education  profit  you  that  cannot 
even  now  discern  what  charm  has  entangled  your 
brothers  and  husbands  ? 

"  She  puts  her  finger  in  her  mouth  !  She  can't 
[209] 


LT  H  K     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

talk  plain ! "  Alas,  my  sisters,  it  was  Helenas 
finger  that  toppled  over  Troy,  and  Diane  de  Poi 
tiers  stammered  ! 

He  listened  calmly  to  his  sister's  account  of  his 
infatuation  and  its  causelessness. 

"  Why,  she's  a  nice  little  girl,"  said  his  aunt, 
smiling,  "  but,  really,  she  can't  be  called  exactly 
pretty.  There  is  something  rather  attractive 
about  her  eyes." 

In  this  wise  may  Mark  Antony's  aunt  have  dis 
missed  the  very  Serpent  of  old  Nile  herself ! 

"  I  should  like,"  he  said  to  his  mother  the  next 
day,  "  to  go  and  see  her." 

"  Well,  you  can  go  with  me  to-morrow,  per 
haps,  when  I  call  on  Mrs.  Weston,"  she  assented. 

"What?  Why,  of  course  not!  Men  don't 
go  calling  in  pumps.  Your  best  shoes  will  do. 
Are  you  crazy  ?  A  straw  hat  in  February ! 
You  will  wear  your  middy  cap.  Now  don't  argue 
the  matter,  Richard,  or  you  can't  go  at  all." 

Seated  opposite  her  on  a  hassock,  their  moth 
ers  chatting  across  the  room,  his  assurance  with 
ered  away.  There  was  nothing  whatever  to  say, 
[210] 


THE  LITTLE  GOD  AND  DICKY 


"  Seated  opposite  her 
on  a  hassock." 


and  he  said  it,  adequately  perhaps,  but  with  a 
sense  of  deepening  embarrassment.  She  took  ref 
uge  behind  her  hair,  and  they  stared  uncomforta 
bly  at  each  other. 

"  And  he  has  never  condescended  to  have  any 
thing  to  do  with  little  girls  before,  so  we  are 
much  impressed." 

Oh,  why  did  not  the  hassock  yawn  beneath  him 
and  swallow  him  up  !  To  discuss  him  as  if  he 
were  a  piece  of  furniture !  Laugh  away  !  The 
crackling  of  thorns  under  a  pot. 

Day  before  yesterday  he  had  been  so  easily 
grand  seigneur,  so  tolerantly  charmed :  to-day  he 
wished  he  had  not  come.  Why  didn^t  she  speak? 
If  only  they  were  out  of  doors  ;  in  a  room  with 
pictures  and  cushions  a  man  is  at  such  a  disad 
vantage. 

[211] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

"  If  you'll  come  over  to  my  house,  Til  show 
you  the  biggest  rat-hole  you  ever  saw  —  it's  in 
the  stable  !  "  he  said  desperately.  It  was  a  good 
deal  to  do  for  a  girl,  but  she  was  worth  it. 

"  Oh  !  Oh !  "  she  breathed,  and  her  eyes 
widened. 

"  Maybe  you  can  see  the  rat  —  he  doesn't  often 
come  out,  though,"  he  added  honestly. 

She  shuddered  and  twisted  her  fingers  vio 
lently. 

"  No  !  No  !  "  she  whispered  revoltedly.  "  I 
—  I  hate  ratths  !  I  dreamed  about  one  !  I  had 
to  have  the  gath  lit !  Oh,  no  !  " 

Frightened  at  this  long  speech,  she  looked  ob 
stinately  in  her  lap,  though  he  tried  persistently 
to  catch  her  eye  and  smile. 

Their  mothers'1  voices  rose  and  fell ;  they  chat 
tered  meaninglessly.  Ladies  talked  and  talked  : 
they  never  did  anything  to  speak  of,  they  only 
talked. 

She  would  not  look  at  him  :  at  his  wits'  ends, 
he  played  his  highest  card.      If  she  were  of  mor 
tal  flesh  and  blood,  this  would  interest  her. 
[212] 


THE  LITTLE  GOD  AND  DICKY' 

"  Look  here  !  Do  you  know  what  Boston  bull 
pups  are  ?  Do  you  ?  " 

She  nodded  vigorously. 

"  Well,  you  know  their  tails  ?  " 

She  nodded  uncertainly. 

"  You  know  they're  just  little  stumps  ?" 

"  Oh,  yeth  !  "  she  beamed  at  him.  "  My  Un 
cle  Harry'th  got  a  bulldog.  Hith  name  ith  Eli. 
He  liketh  me." 

"  Well,  see  here !  Do  you  know  how  they 
make  their  tails  short  ?  A  man  bites  Vm  off'!  A 
fellow  told  me " 

"Oh!  Oh!  Oh!11  She  shuddered  off  the 
hassock,  and  rushed  to  her  mother,  gasping  with 
horror. 

"  He  thayth  —  he  thayth  —  "  words  failed  her. 
Broken  sobs  of  "  Eli !  Oh,  Eli !  "  filled  the  par 
lor.  He  was  dazed,  terrified.  What  had  hap 
pened  ?  What  had  he  done  ?  He  was  shuffled 
disgracefully  from  the  room ;  apologies  rose  above 
her  sobbing ;  the  door  closed  behind  Dicky  and 
his  mother. 

Waves  of  rebuke  rolled  over  his  troubled  spirit. 
[213] 


THE     MADNESS     OF      PHILIP 

"  Of  all  dreadful  things  to  say  to  a  poor,  ner 
vous  little  girl !  I  am  too  mortified.  Richard, 
how  do  you  learn  such  dreadful,  dreadful  things  ? 
It's  not  true." 

"  But,  mamma,  it  is !  It  truly  is.  When 
they  are  little  a  man  bites  them  off.  Peter  told 
me  so.  He  puts  his  mouth  right  down r 

"  Richard  !  Not  another  word  !  You  are 
disgusting  —  perfectly  disgusting.  You  trouble 
me  very  much." 

He  retired  to  the  clothes- tree  in  the  side  yard 
—  there  were  no  junipers  there  —  and  cursed  his 
gods.  To  have  made  her  cry  !  They  thought 
he  didn't  care,  but  oh,  he  did  !  He  felt  as  if  he 
had  eaten  a  cold,  gray  stone  that  weighed  down 
his  stomach.  The  cat  slunk  by,  but  he  threw 
nothing  at  her,  and  his  neighbor's  St.  Bernard 
puppy  rolled  inquiringly  into  the  hedge,  stuck 
there,  and  thrashed  about  helplessly,  but  he  said 
nothing  to  frighten  it.  He  thought  of  supper — 
they  had  spoken  of  cinnamon  rolls  and  little 
yellow  custards  —  but  without  the  usual  thrill. 
What  was  the  matter  ?  Was  he  going  to  be 
[214] 


THE  LITTLE  GOD  AND  DICKY 

sick  ?  There  seemed  no  outlook  to  life  —  one 
thing  was  as  good  as  another.  He  regarded  go 
ing  to  bed  with  a  dull  acquiescence.  As  well 
that  as  anything  else.  It  might  be  eight  o'clock 
now  for  all  he  cared. 

At  night  his  mother  came  and  sat  for  a  mo 
ment  on  the  side  of  the  bed. 

"  Papa  doesn't  want  you  to  feel  too  bad,  dear," 
she  said.  "  He  knows  that  you  never  meant  to 
frighten  Cecelia  so.  You  know  that  little  girls 
are  very  different  from  little  boys  in  some  ways. 
Things  that  seem  —  er  —  amusing  to  you,  seem 
very  cruel  to  them.  To-morrow  would  you  like 
to  send  her  some  flowers  and  write  her  a  little 
note,  and  tell  her  how  sorry  you  are  ?  " 

He  could  not  speak,  but  he  seized  his  mother's 
hand  and  kissed  it  up  to  her  lace  ruffle.  The 
cold,  gray  stone  melted  away  from  his  stomach  ; 
again  the  future  stretched  rosily  vague  before 
him.  In  happy  dreams  he  did  the  honors  of  the 
rat-hole  to  a  sweet,  shy  guest. 

In  the  morning  he  applied  himself  to  his  note 
of  apology  ;  his  sister  ruled  the  lines  on  a  beauti- 
[215] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

ful  sheet  of  paper  with  a  curly  gold  "  P  "  at  the 
top,  and  he  bent  to  his  task  with  extended 
tongue  and  lines  between  his  eyes.  Hitherto  his 
mother  had  been  his  only  correspondent.  He 
carried  her  the  note  with  a  sense  of  justifiable 
pride. 

"  It's  spelled  all  right,"  he  said,  "  because 
every  word  I  didn't  know  I  asked  Bess,  and  she 
told  me." 

My  dear  Cecelia : 

I  am  going  to  send  you  some  flowrs.  I  am  sory  they 
bite  them  of  but  they  do.  I  hope  you  did  not  hafto  lite 
the  gas.  we  are  all  well  and  haveing  a  good  time,  with 
much  love  I  am  your  loving  son. 

RICHARD  CAHR  PENDLETON. 

"  Bess  did  the  periods,  but  I  remembered  the 
large  Fs  myself,"  he  added  comfortably.  "  Is  it 
all  right  ?  " 

His  mother  left  the  room  abruptly,  and  he, 
supposing  it  to  be  one  of  her  many  suddenly- 
remembered  errands,  was  mercifully  unconscious 
of  any  connection  between  himself  and  the  roars 
of  laughter  that  came  from  his  father's  study. 
[216] 


THE  LITTLE  GOD  AND  DICKY 

"  Just  as  it  is,  mind  you.  Lizzie,  just  as  it  is  ! " 
his  father  called  after  her  as  she  came  out  again  ; 
and  though  she  insisted  that  it  was  too  absurd, 
and  that  something  was  the  matter  with  her  chil 
dren,  she  was  sure,  nevertheless  she  kissed  him 
with  no  particular  occasion,  and  held  her  peace 
nobly  when  he  selected  a  hideous  purple  blossom 
with  spotty  leaves,  assisted  by  the  interested 
florist. 

His  offering  was  acceptable,  and  if,  on  the  re 
newal  of  an  acquaintance  destined  to  grow  into  a 
gratifying  intimacy,  he  learned  from  bitter  expe 
rience  that  more  than  one  subject  was  tabooed, 
that  more  than  one  sudden  emotion  must  expect 
no  answering  sympathy,  how  was  he  to  evade  the 
tribulations  of  his  kind  ?  This  cup  was  prepared 
for  them  from  the  beginning.  If  earthly  bliss 
were  flawless,  should  we  concern  ourselves  at  all 
with  heaven  ? 

That  day  she  met  him  on  her  walk,  and  smil 
ing  almost  fearlessly,  offered  him  a  camel  ani 
mal  cracker  !  True,  the  most  obvious  projection 
was  bitten  off,  and  that  process  is  the  best  part 

[217] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

of  animal  crackers ;  but  then,  she  was  only 
seven  !  It  is  not  an  age  to  which  one  looks  for 
the  most  brilliant  altruism. 

He  gave  her  in  return  a  long-cherished  cane- 
top  of  polished  wood,  cut  in  the  shape  of  a  grey 
hound's  head,  with  eyes  of  orange-colored  glass. 
She  seemed  almost  to  appreciate  it.  He  had 
been  offered  a  white  mouse  for  it  more  than  once. 

For  two  long  months  the  Little  God  led  him 
along  the  primrose  way.  The  poor  fellow 
thought  it  was  the  main  road  ;  he  had  yet  to 
learn  it  was  but  a  by-path.  But  the  Little  God 
was  not  through  with  him. 

Her  brother,  an  uninteresting  fellow  at  first, 
had  improved  on  acquaintance,  and  though  he 
scoffed  at  Dicky's  devotion  to  his  sister  —  think 
ing  her  a  great  baby  —  he  had  come  to  consider 
him  a  friend.  One  day,  late  in  April,  he  led 
Dick  out  to  a  deserted  corner  of  the  grounds,  and 
for  the  sum  of  a  small  red  top  and  a  blue  glass 
eye  that  had  been  a  doll's  most  winning  feature, 
consented  to  impart  to  him  a  song  of  such  deli 
cious  badness  that  it  had  to  be  sung  in  secret. 
[  218  ] 


THE  LITTLE  GOD  AND  DICKY 


a 

"  '  Yelly  belly,  yelly  belly  S  " 

He  had  just  learned  it  himself,  and  the  knowl 
edge  of  it  admitted  one  to  a  sort  of  club,  whose 
members  were  bound  together  by  the  vicious  syl 
lables.  Dicky  was  pleasantly  uncertain  of  its 
meaning,  but  it  contained  words  that  custom  has 
banished  from  the  family  circle.  They  crooned 
it  fearfully,  with  faces  averted  from  the  house, 
and  an  exhilarating  sense  of  dissipation. 

"  Yellow  belly,  yellow  belly,  come  an1  take  a  swim  I 
Yes,  by  golly,  when  the  tide  comes  in  !  " 

As  he  slipped  back  to  the  house  alone,  practis 
ing  it  furtively  and  foretasting  the  joys  of  im 
parting  it  to  Peter,  the  stableman,  Cecelia  ap 
peared  suddenly  from  behind  a  large  tree.  She 
was  all  smiles  —  she  was  not  afraid  of  him  any 
[219] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

more.  Dancing  lightly  on  one  foot,  she  waved 
her  bonnet  and  began  to  sing,  bubbling  with 
laughter.  Horror  !  What  did  he  hear  ? 

"  Yelly  belly,  yelly  belly,  comitf  take  a  thwim! 
Yith,  by " 

"  Oh,  stop !  Cissy,  stop  it !  You  mustn't 
sing  that !  "  he  cried  wildly. 

She  looked  elfish. 

"  Why  not  ?  Dicky  thingth  it,"  she  said  with 
a  happy  smile. 

She  had  a  heavenly  habit,  left  from  babyhood, 
of  referring  to  her  interlocutor  and  occasionally 
to  herself  in  the  third  person. 

"  But  girls  mustn't  sing  it,"  he  warned  her 
sternly.  "  Don't  you  dare  to  —  it's  a  secret." 

She  danced  farther  away. 

"  Dicky  thingth  it.  Thithy  thingth  it !  "  she 
persisted,  and  as  he  scowled  she  pursed  her  lips 

again. 

"  Yelly  belly,  yelly  belly " 

"  I  won't  sing  it !  I  won't  !  "  he  cried  desper 
ately.  "  I  won't  if  you'll  keep  still !  So  there  ! 
I  tell  you  I  won't !  " 

[  2-20  ] 


THE  LITTLE  GOD  AND  DICKY 

She  stopped,  amused  at  his  emotion.  All  ig 
norant  of  his  sacrifice,  all  careless  of  his  heroic 
defense  of  her,  she  only  knew  that  she  could  tease 
him  in  an  entirely  new  way. 

And  the  Little  God,  knowing  that  Dicky 
would  keep  his  word,  and  that  Peter  would  never 
get  the  chance  for  the  scandalized  admiration 
once  in  store  for  him,  strutted  proudly  away  and 
polished  up  his  chains.  His  victim  was  secure. 

Her  brother,  on  learning  the  facts,  suggested 
slapping  her  well  —  good  heavens  !  —  and  having 
nothing  more  to  do  with  her,  for  a  mean,  sneak 
ing  tattle-tale.  Here  was  an  opportunity  to 
break  his  bonds.  But  to  those  who  have  served 
the  Little  God  it  will  be  no  surprise  to  learn  that 
it  was  on  that  very  evening  that  he  made  his  fa 
mous  proposal  to  the  assembled  family,  namely, 
that  he  and  Cecelia  should  be  really  engaged  like 
her  Uncle  Harry  and  Miss  Merriam,  and  in  a  lit 
tle  while  marry  and  set  up  housekeeping  in  the 
guest  chamber. 

"That's  what  Miss  Merriam  is  going  to  do," 
he  explained,  "  and  Cissy "s  grandma  is  sorry,  too ; 
[221] 


THE     MADNESS     OF     PHILIP 

it  doesn't  leave  her  any  place  for  company  but 
the  hall  bedroom.  But  they've  got  to  have  the 
room,  she  s'poses." 

"  That  will  do,  Richard  !  You  are  not  to  re 
peat  everything  you  hear.  And  I  am  afraid  I 
need  the  guest  chamber.  What  should  we  do 
when  Aunt  Nannie  comes  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Cissy  could  have  her  crib  right  in  the 
room.  She  wouldn't  mind  Aunt  Nanny,"  he  re 
plied  superbly.  "  She  always  sleeps  in  a  crib, 
and  she  always  will.  A  bed  scares  her  —  she's 
afraid  she'll  fall  out.  I  could  sleep  on  the  couch, 
like  Christmas  time  !  " 

But  in  the  manner  of  age  the  wide  world  over, 
they  merely  urged  him  to  wait.  There  was 
plenty  of  time.  Time  !  and  she  might  be  living 
in  the  house  with  them  ! 

It  was  that  very  night  that  he  reached  the  top 
of  the  wave,  and  justified  the  Little  God's  selec 
tion. 

He  came  down  to  breakfast  rapt  and  quiet. 
He  salted  his  oatmeal  by  mistake  and  never  knew 
the  difference.  His  sister  laughed  derisively,  and 
[222  ] 


THE     L  I  T  T  I.  K     GOD     AND     DICKY 

explained  his  folly  to  him  as  he  swallowed  the 
last  spoonful,  but  he  only  smiled  kindly  at  her. 
After  his  egg  he  spoke. 

"  I  dreamed  that  it  was  dancing-school.  And 
I  went.  And  I  was  the  only  fellow  there.  And 
what  do  you  think  ?  All  the  little  girls  were  Ce 
celia  ! " 

They  gasped. 

"  You  don't  suppose  hell  be  a  poet,  do  you, 
Ritch.  ?  Or  a  genius,  or  anything  ? "  his  mother 
inquired  anxiously. 

"  Lord,  no  !  "  his  father  returned.  "  I  should 
say  he  was  more  likely  to  be  a  Mormon  ! " 

Dick  knew  nothing  of  either  class.  But  the 
Little  God  knew  very  well  what  he  was,  and  was 
at  that  moment  making  out  his  diploma. 


The  End 

r 


Conan 


THE  HOUND  OF  THE 
BASKERVILLES 

A    Sherlock    Holmes   Novel 
Illustrated  by  Sidney  Paget 

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The  London  Chronicle,  in  a  review  headed 

"  THE    ZENITH    OF    SHERLOCK    HOLMES," 

says  : 

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highest  compliment  at  our  command.  It  is  not 
simply  that  this  book  is  superior  in  originality 
and  construction  to  the  earlier  adventures  of 
the  great  detective.  Dr.  Doyle  has  provided  a 
criminal  who,  as  Mr.  Holmes  admits,  is  indeed 
a  foeman  worthy  of  his  steel.*  Hitherto  he 
has  found  it  comparatively  easy  to  unmask  his 
antagonists.  But  in  the  present  case  he  finds 
himself  checkmated  again  and  again.  There  is 
pitted  against  him  a  skill  nearly  equal  to  his 
own,  and  he  wins  the  game  almost  by  a  hair." 

*  "  I  tell  you,  Watson,  this  time  we  have  a  foeman 
who  is  worthy  of  our  steel."  —  Sherlock  Holmes. 

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THE  BLAZED  TRAIL 

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A  TALE  from  beyond  the  bounds  of  civil 
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thoroughly  American  stories. 

The  inspiriting  breath  of  the  great  pine  woods  is  in  this 
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unscrupulous  land  company  for  a  vast  tract  of  timber 
land. 

Third  Edition.  $1-50. 


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Ifi-R.  WHITE  shows  us  the  rough-and-ready 
life  of  a  Western  mining  camp. 

"  '  THE  WESTERNERS  '  lays  strong  hold  on  the  reader. 
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George  Bouglas 


JL  HE  first  novel  of  a  new  master.  The  work 
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year.  In  this  country  Harpers  Weekly  gives 
it  as  one  of  the  two  most  interesting  novels  of 
the  year. 

Tlie  critics  differ  as  to  icith  what  other  master 
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The  London  Times  says:     "Worthy  of  the  hand  that 

drew   'Weir  of  Herrniston,"'   and  that  "Balzac   and 

Flaubert,    had   they   been   Scotch,  would  have  written 

such  a  book." 

The  Spectator:    "  His  masters  are  Zola  and  Balzac,  but 

there  are  few  traces  of  the  novice  and  none  of  the  im 

itator." 

Vanity  Fair  :    "  It  moves  to  its  end  with  all  the  terrible 

unity  of  an  ^Eschylean  tragedy." 

Harpers  Weekly:     "If  Thomas  Hardy  had   written  of 

Scotland,  instead  of  Wessex,  it  would  have  been  some 

thing  like  '  The  House  with  the  Green  Shutters'  ...  If 

any  man  is  his  (Douglas')  master  it  is  Thomas  Hardy." 

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The  critics  are  all  laughing,  not  at  the  book, 
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"  A  delightful  study  of  life  in  the  West." 

—Newark  Call. 

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